


It's Been a Long, Long Time

by Last_Chance_Anna



Series: STAY [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, Paris (City), Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Feels, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: The end of it all.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: STAY [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543645
Comments: 140
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this first chapter a week or so ahead of schedule because tomorrow would have been my mom's birthday. She's been gone for ten years, but I always still miss her this time of year, and I wanted to do something to remember her. She always wanted to be a writer.   
>  We tried to make her chemo treatments as pleasant as possible (if that is possible), but I think if we had known about fanfic back then, she would have loved it. Maybe not the smut ;)   
> Anyway, look for the rest of the story coming up starting next Monday. This first chapter is a short one, but it is going to set the tone. Thanks for reading!

* * *

They never got another pet after Sir Purr died.

It was never even discussed.

They buried him in the yard in his cat bed, wrapped in a silk sheet, surrounded by all the toys Steve bought that he never deigned to play with. 

Steve dug the hole, then stood by, hands clasped behind his back, eyes steadfastly forward, as Tony knelt with the bundle in his arms. 

He lowered the cat into the hole with the greatest care, then kissed his fingertips and pressed them to it. "See you later, Sir Purr," he said softly, and sighed.

Steve blinked rapidly, his jaw working. He put one hand on Tony's shoulder. He kept the other behind his back. He didn't say anything. 

Tony tipped his head and rested it on Steve's hand for a moment, then stood up. His eyes were dry, but very red. He looked at Steve, tried to smile. "Umm. I'm gonna…" he nodded vaguely toward the garage.

"Okay," Steve said. "I'll take care of it."

Tony took his hand, held it, squeezed it. "Thanks, baby."

"You're welcome."

Tony squeezed his hand again, then walked away. 

Steve picked up the shovel and started filling in the hole. He didn't look at it until the white silk was no longer visible. He couldn't. Sir Purr had been Tony's, but over the five years they had him, Steve had developed a relationship of his own with the cat. It was never what Tony's had been--it couldn't be--but it had been a connection all the same.

He tamped the last of the dirt into place, then plucked a few daisies from the meadow and laid them on top of the small mound. He stood there for a little while, his hands shoved in his pockets. He didn't cry, but there seemed to be a hollow place in his heart that hadn't been there before. 

Finally, Steve ran a hand through his hair. He let out a shaky breath. "Bye, baby," he said, then turned and went into the house to start dinner. 

Tony came into the house while Steve was finishing the potatoes. He washed up at the sink, then set the table without being asked. Steve brought the pot roast. Tony poured them each a glass of wine. They sat at the table and picked at their food. Neither spoke. It didn't seem like there was anything to say.

When it felt like they'd sat there long enough, Steve stood up. "Are you done?"

Tony lifted his head, nodded, smiled a little. "Yeah, baby. Sorry."

Steve bent and brushed his lips against Tony's. "Don't be sorry," he said, and took his plate.

He filled the sink with hot water--they never did get a dishwasher, although Tony threatened him with one every Christmas and birthday--and placed all the dishes in. He started washing, thinking about the first time he had come home and saw the cat sitting on the counter. That murderous look in his eyes when they first fell on Steve. He'd lost that look for the most part over the years, but was never really above pouncing on Steve's shoulder and digging his claws in, or biting his hand from time to time. Just for sport, Steve thought. Or maybe to remind him who  _ really _ ran the show around here.

Steve laughed under his breath, and Tony came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. He lay his head between his shoulder blades. "Something funny?"

"No. I was just thinking."

"'Bout something good?"

"Yeah. Something real good."

"What was it?"

Steve turned and sunk into Tony's embrace. "Just stuff. You know."

Tony put his hand in Steve's hair. "Yeah," he said. "I do know."

They held each other there in the quiet kitchen, both thinking about the lost member of their little family, both thinking of their baby, both missing him, both thinking about the good times.

At least they still had each other.

They were both thinking that too.

"I love you," Tony said, and Steve nodded against his neck.

"I love you too."

"Come to bed with me?"

Steve kissed Tony's shoulder and nodded again. "Yeah. That'd be good."

They went, hand-in-hand, and got into the big bed, pulled the blankets up, and fell asleep entangled in each other's arms. 

The next morning, they got up, made breakfast, went to work, came home, ate dinner, and went to bed again. And then again. And again.

They didn't forget him. They kept his pictures up. Some alone, some with Tony, even a couple with Steve, who always looked exasperated, but the warmth in his eyes made up for the scowl on his mouth.

They didn't forget him. They just kept going on. Like people do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go for real. This one is a little short. Short and pretty sweet. I am going to try and post every 2-3 days. The timeline may feel a little vague. That's (mostly) intentional. I kind of wanted it to feel like time is ephemeral. Because it is.

_Ah-choo!_

Tony looked up sharply from his phone. 

Steve sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 

"What the fuck was that?"

"What?" Steve asked. 

" _That_ , what," Tony said, staring at him.

Steve looked back with wet, puzzled eyes. He wiped his nose again. "What? I sneezed. So what?"

" _So what?"_ Tony repeated incredulously. "So, I have never heard you sneeze before."

Steve shook his head. "Yeah, you have."

"No. Never have."

"Don't be stupid. Of course you have. "

They were sitting out on the back deck. The sun was getting low, but it wasn't dark yet, and it wouldn't be dark for awhile if Mother Nature had anything to say about it. It was May, spring was in full bloom, and in their little corner of the world, dusk liked to hang around awhile. That was fine with Tony.

He thought he'd read once that dusk was the lover's hour, but when he googled it, all that came up were some weird songs and a list of bars nearby that had a happy hour. He supposed happy hour could be interpreted as a lover's hour. Depending on what you loved, anyway. He, himself, might once have made that connection, but not anymore.

Not since Steve.

"I'm not being stupid," he said. "I have quite literally, _never_ heard you sneeze."

"We've known each other for-"

"A long fucking time," Tony supplied.

"-eighteen years, or something. You've heard me sneeze, Tony."

"Are you sure it's been eighteen years?"

"Are you sure you've never heard me sneeze?"

Tony leaned closer and put his head on Steve's shoulder. There was no point in arguing. Especially during the lover's/happy hour. "Fine," he said. "You're right. You're always right."

Steve held his hand, kissed the top of his head. "Damn straight."

"Even when you're wrong."

"Fuck you, Stark," Steve said, and rested his cheek on Tony's head.

He sniffed again.

\---

They didn't celebrate an anniversary.

Steve didn't like Tony's pick. Sure, it had been the first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd admitted their attraction to each other, but it was also the day before another anniversary, and this one was not nearly as pleasant.

Tony wasn't a huge fan of Steve's choice, either. Steve had been in prison then, and even though Stephen Strange had given them a few blissful hours alone, for some reason, it didn't seem right to celebrate on a day they hadn't really been able to be together.

So, they didn't really have an "anniversary" in the traditional sense of the word, but that didn't mean they didn't acknowledge their relationship. 

Sometimes, Tony would come in from the lab, or home from S.I. and find Steve in the kitchen. The lights would be low, candles already lit on the table, something quiet and mellow on the stereo, Tony's favorite carbonara on the stove. It was his mother's recipe, and Tony had no idea where Steve had gotten it, but he didn't make it very often. Only a few times a year. Only when Steve felt like it. When the time was right.

Tony's way was a little more extravagant, of course. Usually, he'd call Steve and say, "How about lunch?" Sometimes that meant a burger in town, but sometimes it meant a jet to Paris for the afternoon, where they ate croissants and drank coffee, then switched to wine as the day got old. They usually spent the night on these trips, and brought each other to a heaving, panting climax with the door to the balcony open and the sounds of the Parisian night floating in on the breeze.

Neither came right out and said that they were acknowledging the fact that another month, another year, another _whatever_ had gone by, but they didn't have to. They both knew. They knew what the other meant when it happened. They knew that they were "celebrating". Maybe it was never on the same day, or even the same time of year, but what did that matter? It wasn't the day that deserved celebration--it was what it meant. They were together. They were in love. And that was worth celebrating more than once a year.

\----

"Oh, Steve."

"Tony."

"Oh god, baby, don't stop."

"You feel so good. God, Tony, so _good."_

Steve slid into him with long, slow thrusts, that were agonizingly good, hitting his prostate with unerring accuracy. He was sweating, his skin golden and shimmery in the lamp-light.

Tony's hand was wrapped around his own cock, stroking it, but not too fast. He wanted this to go on for awhile. For as long as they could both hold out. His eyes were closed, his teeth were closed as well, biting into his lower lip. He was concentrating only on this, only on the mounting pleasure, the mounting heat between them. 

He gasped as Steve bit his neck, and clenched a hand in his hair. His eyes flew open, and…

"Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"Oh my god. Steve."

"Tony."

"Holy shit."

"Mmm."

"You have a gray hair."

Steve stopped moving, his breath panting in and out of his lungs. He'd been so close…

"What?"

"Yeah. A gray hair."

" _What?"_

So close…

"Yeah." Tony used the hand in his hair to drag Steve's head over closer to the lamp.

"Ow! Damnit, Tony."

Tony grabbed the lamp off the table and held it closer to Steve's head. "Oh my fucking god," he exclaimed. There was laughter in his voice now too, under the initial surprise. "You do! You've got like three of them. Right here."

"I do not," Steve said, and pulled out of Tony. He was gentle, he always was, and Tony didn't even seem to notice. That bruised his ego a little. No matter how gentle he was, Tony always _noticed_. Always said something. Not this time, though. "You're crazy."

"No, I'm not." He held onto Steve's arm when he tried to pull away. "They're here. They're right here. Oh my god."

"They're probably yours," Steve said touchily. 

"They're attached to _your_ head, Steve."

Steve slid out of Tony's hand and flopped down onto his pillow. He was still hard, but the situation certainly wasn't as urgent as it had been a minute ago. "So what?" he snapped. He wasn't sure why he was as irritated as he was right now. _He_ didn't care if he had a few gray hairs. Of course he didn't. It didn't mean anything. And, as Tony still occasionally pointed out so very helpfully, he _was_ old. No, a gray hair or two didn't bother him. He chalked his irritation up to the no-orgasm thing. He really had been close. 

Tony seemed to realize how pissed off he was, and moved closer. "Come on, baby," he said. "Don't be like that." He kissed his neck, thumbed his nipple just the way Steve liked. "I think it's sexy."

"On _you_ , it's sexy," Steve muttered, but he lifted his chin a little, giving Tony easier access to his neck.

Tony took full advantage, kissing, licking, sucking tiny bruises onto his skin, tasting the tantalizing flavor of his sweat. "It's sexy on you too," he murmured. He let his hands roam over the chiseled planes of Steve's chest, his stomach. "My silver fox."

"Don't call me that," Steve said, but his voice was immeasurably warmer than it had been a moment ago. Like liquid honey. Tony wanted to bathe in it.

"No, I'll just keep calling you baby." He touched Steve's cock gently, then grasped it more firmly when Steve sucked in a deep breath. "That's still okay, isn't it? Right, baby?"

Steve nodded. He forgot about the gray hairs when Tony set a steady rhythm with his hand. He forgot even more when Tony kissed every inch of his neck, his chest, when he sunk his teeth into Steve's right nipple, then sucked lightly. "Yeah," Steve breathed. The situation was getting urgent again. He was glad. "Yeah, Tony, that's okay."

Tony picked up the pace, jacking him hard and fast now. "You gonna come for me, baby?" he asked.

"Tony."

"Hmm? Are you close?"

"Yeah. Y-Yes. Yes, Tony."

Tony kissed him, swallowing his moan of pleasure when Steve spilled into his fist. He stroked him through it, then palmed his own erection slowly until Steve opened his eyes. 

"Good?"

Steve nodded. "It's always good."

"You wanna maybe take over here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve yawned pointedly and shook his head. "Nah. Us old guys need our rest." He turned on his side away from Tony, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. 

Tony sputtered a little, stunned, then pounced on him and rolled him back over so he could climb on top of him. "Oh, no you don't, _baby,"_ he said, and Steve laughed. "Get to work."

Steve did. Gladly.

And if he happened to get himself hard and get off one more time in the process, all the better for him.

He didn't give those gray hairs a second thought. 

Well, not a third thought, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Harry James Orchestra song...as if you didn't know😉!


	3. Chapter 3

It hit Tony hard when Jeff died in January.

He'd been fine when Tony and Steve rang in the New Year with him and Jen two weeks before. 

They drank champagne, had dinner, then watched the Times Square ball drop on TV while outside the window, the neighbors, who were young and new to the area, let off a bunch of fireworks, oblivious to the ten-degree midnight weather. 

"They're fucking crazy," Tony said, watching the sparks shoot up in the air, shadows huge and wild on the trees as the group of them danced around fountains of red, green, and gold.

"Yeah," Jeff agreed. "You wouldn't catch me out there like that."

"Me neither."

Jeff and Jen left shortly after that, exchanging hugs and kisses and handshakes with Steve and Tony, then driving slowly away into the night. 

Tony met him for lunch in town a week later, and he was still fine.

They talked about Jen's brother who had asked for money--again. They talked about the teachers at the high school who had gotten caught fucking in the faculty room by one of the students who had stayed late to work on a science project. "I heard it was about pheromones and animal attraction," Jeff said, and Tony cracked up. He, himself, had heard it was about the female reproductive system, complete with a detailed model made out of clay, but he let Jeff have his moment. Pheromones sounded funnier. They talked about Jeff taking Jen into the city for a special Valentine's Day. They  _ did _ have an anniversary, and it would be their fortieth that day.

"You should stay at the Tower," Tony said. "I can get it all set up for you. Flowers, candles, chocolate," he gestured, "whatever else you're into. FRIDAY can order whatever you want and have it delivered. All you'll have to do is show up."

"Wouldn't want to be a bother," Jeff said, but Tony could see he liked the idea.

"Make a list," he said. "I'll get it ready."

Jeff grinned at him, his round face alight. "That'd be real nice. You're one of the good ones, Tony."

Tony felt that prickle of pride he always felt when Jeff said something like that. It was nice. That feeling. Like when he was a kid and Jarvis let him help with some small chore. "Well done, sir," Jarvis would say when Tony finished shining Howard's shoes or polishing the silver. No more than that. Just "Well done, sir," but it had given him the same feeling of pride he felt now whenever Jeff said something like, "You're one of the good ones."

So, it hit him hard when Jen called him in tears on January 17th and said Jeff was gone.

"He went out to shovel snow," she sobbed, "and his heart…" She dissolved into tears, and Tony felt his own start to fall.  _ What the fuck? _ he thought.  _ This can't be happening. He was fine a week ago. Just  _ fine.

"What can I--" he began, cleared his throat, wiped his eyes. "What do you need? What can I do?"

"I don't know," she said, still crying. 

"Should I come over?"

"Would you? You were one of his best friends, and I need to call people…There are arrangements...I-I don't know what to do!" she burst out.

Tony nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes. I'll be right there, okay? I'll be right there."

He grabbed his coat, his keys, and was calling Steve on his way out the door. He didn't answer, but Tony hadn't expected him to. He worked at the V.A. in Buxton three days a week now. He'd gotten his psychology degree and ran counseling sessions for returning veterans, then went to the homeless shelter right after. He was sort of a jack-of-all-trades there. He cooked, cleaned, did laundry, helped with the bookkeeping and building maintenance. He made two sets of bookshelves for the living area that were so nice Tony pestered him into making another set for their bedroom at home. He did counseling at the shelter too, and anything and everything else that needed to be done. He never got home before nine or ten those days, but it was worth it. For Steve  _ and _ for Tony. Steve was doing what he loved--helping people--and Tony was more proud of him than he had ever been of anyone in his entire existence. 

But he needed him now. He needed him to come home.

"Steve, call me," he said, as he jumped into the 'Cuda. "Please. Jen called-" he sobbed a little in the back of his throat, "Jeff's gone, Steve. Please call me. Please. I'm on my way over there, but I need to talk to you, okay, baby? I need you."

He drove fast, and jumped out of the car at Jeff's--Jen's--door. There were a few cars there already. He recognized most, but there were one or two he didn't. 

Jen met him at the door and threw herself into his arms. He hugged her as she cried onto his shoulder. "What do I do now?" she asked, lifting her puffy, tear-streaked face. "I was seventeen when we got married. What do I do now?"

Tony didn't have an answer for her. He just hugged her tighter.

One of the cars Tony didn't recognize belonged to their daughter. He had seen her photograph and Jeff talked about her all the time, but Tony had never met her in person. She looked like Jen, but there was a healthy dose of Jeff in her smile.  _ When  _ she smiled. Which wasn't often, considering the situation.

Tony shook hands with her and her tall, lanky husband. He worked on an oil rig off the coast somewhere, so they didn't come home much. Jasmine cried mostly about that while Tony was there. Apologizing again and again while Jen tried to console her. Tony admired the hell out of her for being able to do that while she herself was falling apart. 

Tony and the husband, Bobby, did the dishes. Bobby washed. Tony dried and put away. He knew where everything went. He and Steve had eaten a lot of meals here. They didn't talk much while they worked. Bobby was a shy kid, and the fact that he was standing side-by-side with  _ Iron Man _ washing dishes in his mother-in-law's kitchen seemed to have rendered him totally speechless. 

Tony heard a knock on the door, then one of Jen's friends, Patty from the diner, said, "Oh, Steve, thank god."

Tony clutched the edge of the sink. Thank god, indeed.

"I'll be right back," he said.

Steve was kneeling in front of Jen's chair, holding her in his arms, whispering words into her ear. She was crying again, in great, gasping sobs, and Steve held her tight. Tony watched. Just stood and watched. And loved him. Loved them both. And grieved for Jeff. His friend. 

Steve's eyes met his. They were wet.  _ I'm sorry,  _ mouthed.

Tony nodded, so glad, so relieved Steve was here. Everything would be okay now. Now that Steve was here. Everything would be okay. 

"Drive home with me. We'll come back for your car tomorrow."

Steve nodded and they got into the 'Cuda wordlessly.

They hadn't had a chance to talk all evening. Bobby, who had been as silent as a stone with Tony, couldn't stand it when he saw Steve Rogers-- _ Captain America -- _ come into the kitchen, and spent the rest of the day glued to his side, talking quietly, but fast and continuously. He told Steve all about his job, his family, he and Jasmine's dream of opening a bakery someday, and a hundred other things.

Steve just listened, being there for him, while Tony, Patty, Jasmine, Ray, and a handful of others called people and helped Jen start the process of Jeff's funeral. By the time nine o'clock came, Bobby had progressed from Captain America, to sir, to Mr. Rogers, to Steve, and latched onto him at the door, hugging him with gusto. Steve hugged him back, said he'd see him soon, then stepped out into the cold night air with Tony.

"Sorry 'bout the kid," Steve said as they pulled into the driveway. "I tried to get away, but-"

Tony shook his head. "It's okay. He seemed a little lost until you got there. He needed somebody."

"Yeah, but what about you?"

Tony took his hand, kissed his fingers. "Just having you in the house helped me," he said. "And I've got you now."

"Yeah. You do. You always do."

"I know," Tony said. And he did know.

They went into the house and kicked their shoes off at the door.

"Are you hungry?" Steve asked. "Do you want me to make you something?"

Tony stood in the doorway. His eyes were on the couch. Jeff had slept there the night of Natasha and Bruce's wedding after getting drunk on Asgardian mead. "I feel like I'm sixteen again!" he'd exclaimed. He'd been fifty-five then. He would only be sixty now. 

Sixty. 

Dead of a heart-attack at sixty.

"Tony?"

Tony's face began to work. "He was sixty years old, Steve," he said, and then he was crying. 

Steve wrapped his arms around him, and held him while he cried for his friend, and his friend's wife, and his friend's child, and for all of the years that were left that would now be a little less bright without Jeff there to help illuminate them. He cried for Howard too, and Maria, and for Jarvis, and Vision. He cried for Sir Purr, whose loss he still felt like a knife in his chest every time he went to the garage or the lab and didn't find him there lounging on the tabletop or under the work bench, waiting for Tony to come into the room. He cried for Steve, and all the years he had lost, both in the ice and at the behest of Thaddeus Ross. He  _ didn't  _ cry for Ross, however. He had died last year. Drooling in a mental ward in Iowa. His hair had gone completely white. He was buried in Arlington Cemetary. They didn't go to the funeral. They went to Florence instead, and spent a week prowling from the Uffizi Gallery, to the Palazzo Pitti, to the Galleria dell'Accademia. At night, they took dinner in their room then fucked like newlyweds. It had been a good week. A  _ perfect  _ week. And after Steve fell asleep, Tony would look at him lying naked in the dark and think over and over again,  _ Burn in hell, Thaddeus Ross. Just burn. _

"I'm sorry, Tony," Steve said in his ear. "I'm so sorry about your friend."

"I loved him," Tony said. "You know? He was...he was a good guy."

Steve nodded. "I know he was."

"And Jen. Christ, Steve, she's fifty-seven. They should have had another twenty-five years together."

"I know."

He pulled out of Steve's arms. "We can't do that, okay? That's fucked up. We have to stay together. Okay?"

Steve kissed him long and hard, then took him to the bedroom and made love to him soft and sweet, then got him into the shower, then into bed.

Steve fell asleep with his head on Tony's stomach, and his hand curled into Tony's t-shirt, and it was only when he started to drift off, that Tony realized Steve hadn't answered him.

\---

The house was dark when Tony came home from work.

Usually, on his days in the city, Steve left the porch light on for him, but it wasn't a big deal. In fact, it barely registered to him. He and Pepper had had an argument. It was small and stupid and they both apologized, but he still felt bad. They'd tried very hard over the last few years to be gentle with each other. It started when he got shot, and continued when she and Strange eloped. There had been hard feelings there, over both incidents, and while neither really had a right to be angry--Pepper at Steve, and Tony at Stephen--their feelings about each other had never been rational, and they never would be.

Tony got out of the car and went into the house. Now it registered that the house was dark. The kitchen was too. "Steve?" he called. "Baby, you home?"

A drop of worry slipped down his spine. He checked his phone, but there were no messages. "FRI?"

"Yes, boss."

"Where's Steve?"

"Captain Rogers is in bed."

Tony snorted a little. "'Kay. Thanks."

He loosened his tie as he went into the bedroom, and sure enough, there was Steve lying on his stomach, his arms clutched around Tony's pillow. The drop of worry Tony felt was lost under an avalanche of love, seeing him there like that. It was a sight he didn't get to see very often. Steve usually got up before him and when they went to bed, they were curled so tightly around each other, he couldn't really see anything at all.

Tony snapped the lamp on, then sat down on Steve's side of the bed. He finished taking his tie off, unbuttoned his top button, then leaned over and kissed Steve's jaw. "Hey," he said in his ear, then kissed that too. "What the hell? You're going to bed without me now?"

Steve drew in a breath, turned, and saw Tony. "Hey," he said, smiling sleepily up at him. "What time is it?"

"Seven."

He rubbed his eyes. "Already? I must have slept in. Do you have time for breakfast? Or are you getting something at the office?"

Tony frowned. The worry was suddenly back. Compounded by a thousand. "It's seven  _ p.m.,  _ Steve," he said slowly. "I've been at the office all day. I just got home."

Steve propped himself up on his elbow, took Tony's wrist, and looked at his watch. Those three lines formed between his brows. "No, that's not right." He rubbed his face. "I-- _ we-- _ went to bed, then…" He looked at Tony blankly.

"Baby, are you telling me you didn't get up at all after I left this morning?"

Steve's frown got deeper. "I don't know."

"FRIDAY? Did Steve get up today?" Tony asked, his eyes still locked on Steve's. 

"No, boss. He slept the day through. I monitored his vitals, but they were all consistent, and he slept peacefully and normally."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. I would have alerted you or medical services if he'd been in distress or danger."

Tony smiled at the irritation in her voice. Of course she would have. He ran a hand through Steve's hair. "You must have just been tired, huh?"

"I guess."

"Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah."

"Sure?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

Tony kissed him, his hand still moving in his hair. "Would you tell me if you didn't?"

Steve finally smiled, the lines disappearing. "I don't know. Maybe."

Tony tugged his hair. "That's  _ not  _ the answer I want to hear, mister."

"Okay, okay. Yes. Alright? I'd tell you."

"You'd better."

Steve drug himself up against the headboard. He rubbed his face again. "God, you're probably starving. I'll get dressed and go make some dinner."

"No,  _ you're  _ probably starving. How 'bout  _ I _ go make dinner, and you just stay here." Tony ran his hand over Steve's bare chest. "I definitely don't want you putting on any more clothes tonight."

"Yeah? You've got me right where you want me, huh?"

"Yup."

"And what are you going to do to me when you get back?"

Tony sunk his teeth into Steve's earlobe. "You're all rested up now. I'll think of something."

"You do that."

Tony stood up and went into the kitchen. Soon, Steve heard him rattling a pan on the stove, and music started playing.

He sunk back down on the pillows. He was still tired. He'd been tired a lot lately. But it was fine. He'd been working a lot of long days. That's all it was. Long days. It was fine. He was just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on Wednesday. Thank you all for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a little bit of dubious science-y stuff ahead. I know nothing, I'm just making it up as I go. I deal in feelings not facts, guys! I just want to write sad stories😉.

Steve made carbonara again. It really hadn't been that long since last time, but he felt like it, so he did it. Tony raised his eyebrows, but he didn't complain. Steve could make it  _ every  _ night, and he wouldn't complain. 

Not to be outdone, Tony flew them to Paris again a few weeks after that _. _ They sat at their favorite cafe, ate pastries, drank coffee, watched the people on the streets. It was fall, and the sun was that luxurious, velvet gold that only belongs to October. It hit Steve just right, and Tony couldn't take his eyes off of him.

"What are you staring at?" Steve asked.

"Just you, baby," Tony said, and there was no joke, no humor in his voice at all. All there was, was awe. "Just you."

Steve blushed and threw a napkin at him. "Well, stop it," he said. "It's weird."

Tony picked up the napkin. It was clean, just a little crumpled. He stuck it in his pocket. He did that sometimes. Kept things. He had a box on a shelf in the garage. Just a plain wooden box filled with little things that wouldn't mean anything to anyone but him. But they  _ did  _ mean something to him. Apart from the man sitting opposite him, they meant more than anything.

"You ready to go?" Steve asked. 

"Yeah," Tony answered, and they stood up and started back to the hotel. Steve reached for his hand, and Tony gave it. "So?" Tony said. "What do you think? You wanna go see it?"

Steve laughed and brushed his thumb against Tony's wrist. The combination of the two things made Tony feel dizzy. 

"No. Not this time."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"It's not that far. We can go right now."

"That's okay."

"Next time?"

"Maybe."

Tony kissed his hand, and they kept walking. It was like that every time. It wasn't word-for-word, but it almost was.

It had become something of a running joke between them. A bit they did every time they came to Paris. The very first time they came here, Tony had planned on taking him to see The Mona Lisa. Steve said no. Tony was disappointed, but let it go. The next time, he asked him, "Don't you want to see it again?"

"I saw it once," Steve said. "That should be enough for anybody."

"Come on, it won't be like last time. I swear."

"No. I don't think so."

It happened the next time, too. And the next. Now it happened every time. It was as much a part of the trip as the coffee and the pastries.

"Are you ever going to say yes?" Tony asked. The hotel was right there. They'd stay the night, then jet home in the morning. If Tony was lucky, he'd get a thank-you blow job on the way home. He thought the chances were good. He was a pretty lucky guy.

Steve stopped walking. The sun was setting, that golden light intensifying with every passing second. It would be gone soon, though. Lost forever.  _ Nothing gold can stay. _ Who said that? Frost? Whoever it was, Tony thought they were one thousand percent correct.

"Baby? You okay?"

Steve smiled a little, looked at Tony through his lowered lashes. "We'll go see it someday. Okay?"

"Any idea when this 'someday' may be?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Just someday."

Tony kissed him. "You are an enigma, Steve Rogers."

Steve laughed. "Not really," he said, and as he spoke, that golden light disappeared. The shadows rushed in. Darkness would follow. "But I kinda like that you think so."

\---

Right before Christmas, Steve caught a cold. 

Tony kept him in bed, brought him soup, and crackers, and 7-Up, and let him get caught up on daytime TV. That night, Steve told him his mother had always read to him when he was sick in bed.

"Let's do it," Tony said. He'd never read to anyone before, and it was a little awkward getting into the spirit of it, but once they got started, and Steve was lying beside him, looking warm and happy, he felt a deep sense of contentment.

They almost made it through  _ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone _ before Steve got over his cold. Tony was glad he felt better, but was a little sad they didn't finish the book.

The next night, Steve came to bed and lay down next to Tony. He fidgeted. Lay on one pillow, then grabbed another one and doubled it up. Sighed, and threw it on the floor. 

"What's the matter with you?" Tony asked. 

"Don't know. Nothing."

"I thought you were feeling better?"

"I am. It's not that."

"Well, what is it?"

Steve looked at him, his face almost painfully shy. "Nothing. I just kind of wish we could have finished the story. That's all."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "I know it's silly. But it was nice. You know. Listening to you."

"Oh, thank Christ," Tony said, and tossed his phone down on the table. He grabbed the book out of the drawer.

"Really?" Steve asked, sitting up. "Really? You want to finish it?"

"Are you kidding? I've been dying to know what happens."

Steve crowded up against Tony's side and lay his head on his shoulder. That air of happiness was back, of sweet, warm, blissful contentment. "What are you talking about? You know what happens."

"No, I don't."

"Tony,  _ everybody  _ knows what happens."

"Not me."

"We watched the movie three times during movie night at the Tower."

Tony flapped a hand at him, and put his glasses on. They sat on the end of his nose in that way Steve found unbearably sexy. "I never paid attention. It was a kid-movie. How was I supposed to know it was good?"

Steve laid his hand against the dull glow of the arc reactor. "I told you a hundred times."

Tony opened the book. It was Steve's, old, dog-eared, and battered. Tony had already ordered a new copy. "Maybe I'll listen to you next time you talk."

"That'd be a first."

"Okay. You're funny. I get it. Now shut up and let me read."

They moved on to  _ The Chamber of Secrets _ the next night.

Tony was so enamored of the stories and the feeling of Steve lying next to him, listening to him read, that he never really wondered how Steve had gotten sick in the first place. 

\---

Steve made carbonara again on December 28th.

January 12th, they flew to Paris. 

"Well? This time, baby?"

"Not this time."

\---

Tony was just headed into the house when the big, red, Ford truck came bouncing down the driveway at a break-neck pace behind him. He knew the truck--had reinforced the shocks and painted it himself--but he had no clue what it would be doing speeding toward him just before dark on a Tuesday night.

It skidded to a stop, spraying gravel at Tony's feet, and the driver jumped out. 

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!" the kid shouted, and ran to him.

He'd grown a lot since he'd delivered their very first pizza--god, how many years ago now?--and was no longer technically a kid, but Tony still thought of him that way--Matt, the pizza delivery kid.

Tony caught him by the shoulders. He was six-one, and outweighed Tony by thirty pounds, but he looked small, and scared, and young right now--six instead of twenty-six.

"Hey, hey, hey, Matty, what is it? Are you okay?"

"Come-come here, Mr. Stark. He was sitting on the side of the road when I drove by. He wouldn't let me take him to the hospital. He said he wanted to come home. He said he was just tired, and I didn't know what to do, I didn't-"

" _ Matt _ ," Tony said sharply. "What are you talking about?"

Behind them, the passenger side door of the truck opened. Tony's head snapped that way.

"Captain Rogers," Matt said. "I think he needs help."

Tony ran to the truck, unaware of Matt, the pizza delivery kid, half a step behind him. Half the town could have been behind him right then, and he wouldn't have noticed. All he could think about was Steve.

Steve slid out of the truck. His knees buckled under him, but Tony was there to catch him. There to hold him up.

"Steve? Baby, are you okay?" Tony asked, putting his hand on Steve's chest while his other arm encircled his waist to support him. "Matt, grab his other side." The kid did it wordlessly.

Steve nodded, but his face was paper white. His hands shook. His heart was hammering inside his chest. Tony could feel it against his side.

But he smiled. He still smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, Tony, I'm fine," he said. His voice was weak with exhaustion. "Just get me in the house, okay? I just wanna lie down for a minute, and then I'll be good as new."

"Fuck that," Tony snapped. "We're taking you to the hospital. Right now. Matt, help me."

"No, Tony," Steve said. "No, I don't want to."

"Too fucking bad."

"Tony."

"Matt, boost him back up-"

" _ Tony." _

__ It was his old battlefield voice. The only one that had ever stopped Tony so dead in his tracks. The one that issued orders and commands, and not only Tony, but Matt stopped immediately to obey.

Steve exhaled. It wasn't cold out, but for a moment, Tony was freezing. The look in Steve's eyes--pleading, tired,  _ old-- _ froze him in place. "Please?" he said. "Tony, please just help me inside, okay?"

They helped him inside.

Tony settled him on the couch, and sent Matt to get him a glass of water and a blanket out of the bedroom. When he was sure Steve was breathing alright and resting comfortably, Tony walked Matt outside.

"I don't have to ask you to keep this to yourself for now, do I?" he asked, seriously.

Matt shook his head. "No, sir. But I don't know how many people drove by and saw him sitting there, or if any did while I was getting him into the truck."

"I know. And we can't help that." He ran a hand up through his hair in a distracted gesture. "I shouldn't even ask you not to say anything, but Steve is a very private person-"

"You don't have to explain, Mr. Stark," Matt said. "It's nobody's business but his." He smiled, seeming a little shy. "And yours."

A bright flash of gratitude lit Tony up from the inside. Tony squeezed the kid's shoulder. "You're one of the good ones, Matty," he said, and Matt flushed with unmistakable pride.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"No. No, thank you. For bringing him home. Thank you."

"If there's anything else I can do…"

Tony shook his head. "No, kid, you go on home. You've got that new baby waiting for you."

Matt grinned. "Six months old, already."

Tony nodded, thinking as far as he was concerned, Matt's newborn daughter's college education was already paid for. "Thanks again, Matty."

Tony watched him climb up into the cab of his truck and waved as he drove away, going much slower than when he'd come. Tony went back into the house.

Steve wasn't asleep, but his eyes were closed, and his breath slipped in and out of his parted lips. Tony didn't know which he felt more--utter fury or utter love. He felt both, a frightening amount of both, he just wasn't sure which one he felt more.

He sat down in his old recliner. He had taken off his jacket and tie, and rolled his sleeves up when he'd come into the house, and now he leaned forward. He put his elbows on his knees. 

"Hey, you."

"Fuck you," Steve said without a moment's hesitation. As if he'd been waiting for it. He was a little less pale now. His lashes lay smoothly against his cheeks. He looked almost normal. Normal and beautiful. 

"What's going on?" Tony asked. "And don't lie. The pizza delivery kid just found you on the side of the road.  _ Something  _ is going on."

Steve opened his eyes. They were still as blue as ever, as breathtaking as ever. "I'm fine, Tony," he said quietly.

The fury edged into the lead, but Tony kept a grip on it before it could run completely amok. "Do you know the best way to tell someone you're  _ not _ fine?"

"No."

"Start a conversation with the words 'I'm fine'. Does it every time."

"I really am-"

" _ Fuck _ , Steve," Tony bit out, then took a deep, calming breath. He reached out and took one of Steve's hands in his. He was shocked at how cold it was. Steve always ran hot. Why was his hand so cold? "Please," he said. "Please, 'kay? Talk to me."

Steve looked away, past Tony's shoulder to where the bedroom door stood open. Tony knew he was looking at the spot where they'd fought before. Where Steve had cut his own throat as penance for hurting Tony. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

Tony bit his lip to keep in his anger. He knew it was just there as a coping mechanism.  _ He  _ didn't have a psych degree, but he didn't need one to know he was only feeling the anger to mask the hurt and fear and confusion he was really feeling. So, he didn't lash out the way he wanted to. He kissed Steve's hand instead. Raised it to his lips and kissed it with all the tenderness in his heart. "I know," he said. "I know you don't, baby, but you have to this time. Please. I'm scared.  _ This _ ," he gestured at Steve lying on the couch in his denim jacket and dusty sneakers, "this is scary. We need to talk about it, so we can fix it."

Steve looked at him squarely in the eyes. The fury was gone. Just like that. Now, all he felt was the love. And the fear. "Tony," he said, and there was a note of warning in his voice.

"Come on, Steve," he answered. "Tell me."

Steve let out a breath and sat up. He swung his legs off the couch and leaned close to his husband. Their knees brushed together. Steve took his other hand and held them both, and just looked at him. 

"I can take it, Steve," Tony said. "Whatever it is, I can take it."

Steve moved closer still, until their knees were pressed solidly against each other, and squeezed Tony's hands.

"It was never meant to last this long," he said gently. "I was-" he stopped, smiled sadly. " _ I  _ was never meant to last this long. I was supposed to go in, work the mission, and...you know. Never come back out. That was the plan. Not Doctor  _ Erskine's  _ plan, maybe, but the army's. SHIELD's."

Tears rose up in Tony's throat, unbidden, choking him. He knew what Steve was saying, but he couldn't wrap his mind around it. It was ridiculous. Insane. He couldn't be hearing this. Steve couldn't be  _ saying  _ this. Tony opened his mouth, but no sound came out and he closed it again. 

Steve nodded as if he understood. "I've tried everything," he whispered. "Doctor Strange and me. He's run a thousand tests, he's changed my medications a hundred times."

"Shuri-"

"No. We tried that too. I've been to Wakanda. She's tried a bunch of stuff." That smile stayed on his face. "She even tried to replicate the serum, re-synthesize it somehow, but my heart--" he tapped his chest, "--she said it would probably just explode."

"I'll make you a reactor. I'll do it now." Tony stood up, but Steve held his hand fast. 

"Tony, no. It's not just my heart. It's my whole body. It's starting to slow down."

"This is Ross," Tony said, coldly. "This is because of what he did. It wasn't enough, Steve. Whatever you and Wanda did. It wasn't enough. "

Steve shook his head. "It's not  _ him,  _ Tony. It's not. It's just...nature, I guess. My body's just trying to catch up to where it should be. I'm just finally getting old." He said that last on a small chuckle of laughter that broke Tony's heart. He sat back down. 

"When?" Tony muttered. "When did all this happen? Where the fuck have I been?"

"Once a month or so, I'd take a day off work. I'd go see Doctor Strange, or he'd make a portal to Wakanda." He shrugged. "It was easy."

Tony's hands clenched down on Steve's. The anger was back, but it was lost in a sea of despair. He tried to speak, but there was nothing to say.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Steve said, catching his eye. "Shuri said I might have another eight years."

" _ Eight?" _

__ "Yeah. See? It's okay."

Tony closed his eyes, pulled out of Steve's grip. He leaned back in the chair and put a hand over his face, rubbing his temples with shaking fingers. Eight years.  _ Might _ have eight years. Tony was sick. He was going to throw up. Pass out. Eight years, and then what? What happened then? What happened to Steve? What happened to  _ him? _

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, and his voice was bitter. Bitter.

Steve didn't say anything for a long time. When he did, Tony could hear his tears. "I didn't want anything to change," he whispered, and Tony opened his eyes. They met Steve's blue ones and held. "I didn't want it to change the way you look at me. The way you touch me." He scrubbed a hand across his face. He tried to smile again, and Tony's heart ached for him. For himself. For both of them. Together. "I didn't want you to spend the rest of the time I have counting down the days 'til I die."

They looked at each other. Tony remembered their first meeting, their first fight, their first kiss, their first time in the bed just there. All the firsts, and now Steve was talking about  _ lasts _ . Things they shouldn't even be considering for twenty more years. Eight years?  _ Maybe?  _ It wasn't enough time. It wasn't enough time.

"Baby," Tony said, and then they were in each other's arms. He didn't know which one of them moved, which one broke first, or if they both did at the same time. All he knew, was that they were holding each other, breathing together, their hearts each pounding out the other's name, every beat bringing them one step closer to the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all! Thank you for the comments. I know this is a hard go, and thank you for continuing on!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that even though you guys are pretty upset at this story, I looooove your comments so much! I can't tell you how much it means to have you as passionate about this as you are. I hate making you sad, but I am in love with you all right now for being so amazing! I wish I could just gather you all up and hug you!

Steve asked Tony if he wanted to go with him to his next appointment with Doctor Strange. Tony agreed immediately. 

They took Steve's car. It was a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, black with a midnight blue interior. Tony had been very specific about that color. He wanted it to match Steve's eyes. Not when they were happy, but that dark, deep blue that happened when he was in the throes of passion. That's what Tony wanted. That's what he got. 

The car went fast--as fast as the 'Cuda--and Steve liked to drive it as fast as it would go. With the top down, it was almost like flying. He didn't tell Tony that. Didn't tell him how often he punched the gas pedal to the floor, and just let it ride at the highest speeds, on the loneliest roads, just feeling the wind on his face, whipping through his hair, the motor loud and comforting, the good scent of sun-warm leather and burning leaves, or apple blossoms, or coming rain surrounding him, but he did it a lot.

A lot.

He drove slower today, though. Tony was with him, sitting in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dash, looking out the window, holding his hand. And that was enough. Enough to make him feel like he was flying again. He wished they were on their way somewhere else. The ocean. The mountains. Hell, even the mall an hour away, but this was okay. As long as Tony was with him, it was okay.

If Strange was surprised to see Tony, he didn't show it. He just took them right in when they got there. It made sense. Steve was his only real patient. 

Tony watched the exam, watched him take blood, then listened as Strange lectured Steve on vitamins, exercise, and diet. Steve didn't mention that when he'd overdone it, then tried to take a pre-dinnertime walk the week before, he'd almost passed out on the side of the road. Tony didn't mention it either. In fact, he kept silent through the entire appointment. He just sat, holding Steve's hand when he could, trying to concentrate. It was harder than it should have been. He kept finding himself distracted by hating Stephen Strange. 

When it was over, Steve shook Strange's hand. "Thanks, Doctor. I'll see you in a few weeks."

"Yes," Strange said, then turned to Tony. Neither man offered their hand. "Tony."

"Strange."

Tony hung back, letting Steve leave the office first. When he was gone, Tony said, "You should have told me," in a low, icy voice. 

Strange looked him in the eye. "I couldn't, Tony. Doctor-patient privilege."

"That's bullshit," Tony whispered. "You should have told me."

Then he left.

\----

"What do you want to read next?" Tony asked. 

They'd worked their way through _Harry Potter,_ then _The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo._

"This woman is a badass," Tony had exclaimed, when they finished the series. 

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "She kind of reminds me of Nat."

Tony laughed. "I still like Hermione better, though."

Steve huffed a little. Tony talked about Hermione a lot. "This Hermione-thing is _never_ gonna get old," he muttered.

"What?" Tony said. "She's smart, crafty, resourceful. She's like the daughter I never had."

They plowed through a stack of classics after finishing with Lisbeth. Tony closed the cover on _The Quiet American_ the night before, and they both seemed at a loss as to what to read next. 

"How about something really different?" Tony said. " _Cujo_ or something?"

They were lying in bed, Steve against Tony's side while he scrolled through e-books on his tablet. 

Steve frowned. "Isn't that the one where they kill the dog? I don't want to hear a story where they kill a dog."

"Atticus killed a dog," Tony pointed out. "You were okay with that."

"No, I wasn't. I hated that part."

Tony's hand went to Steve's hair. They had always been very physical with each other--touching, kissing whenever they could, but now it was almost like a compulsion for both of them. Ever since Steve's admission about what was happening to him, neither one felt right if they weren't touching the other. Steve never even thought about co-dependency anymore. Who gave a shit about buzz-words in the face of actual, impending death? All he cared about was being as close to Tony as he could, as often as he could. Tony had been right when he'd said Jeff and Jen should have had another twenty-five years. It wasn't fair. Shuri had given him eight. An _optimistic_ eight. And Steve knew he wouldn't even get that long. He knew how he was feeling. He could feel the weakness creeping in. The ache in his knee--and now his hands too--he used to get only on cold mornings, was now a low constant. He could see a new line on his face occasionally. A new gray hair. 

He wouldn't get eight years.

He still felt remarkably good, but he wouldn't get eight years. He knew it.

He thought Tony might know it too.

So, they touched more, they laughed more, they fucked more, they fought more, they did everything they could to distill _their_ twenty-five years into the four or five he realistically had left.

And this was part of it. As much a part of it as anything. Lying in bed, pressed together, talking. This was a huge part of it. Steve's favorite part. As much as he adored the rest, this was Steve's favorite part.

"You know," Tony said, "some people think that's a symbol for racism. The rabies? And that Atticus taking him down is a good thing."

Steve looked up at him with shining eyes. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm."

He rubbed his smooth cheek against Tony's shoulder, then kissed him there before lying against him again. "You're so smart. Have I ever told you how much I love that? How smart you are?"

He had, of course. Dozens of times. Hundreds. But to Tony, it always felt like the first time. "I don't think so."

"Well, I do."

Tony smiled to himself. He hadn't been fishing for a compliment, but he wasn't going to turn it down, either.

"So?" he asked. " _Cujo,_ then?"

"Is it about racism?"

"No," Tony said, then considered. "It might be about feminism, though."

Steve closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh as he sunk further into Tony's side. "Oh. Okay."

So, Tony read him _Cujo_ , and they both cried at the end.

Steve wasn't sure if it was about feminism, but he still thought it was a hell of a story.

\---

Steve made carbonara four times that year. Tony flew them to Paris four times. They didn't go see The Mona Lisa. 

\---

Tony and Jen sat at her kitchen table. They each had a cup of coffee and a piece of banana bread. Jasmine had made it that morning. It was heavenly.

Outside the window, they could see Steve and Bobby unloading a moving truck. Jasmine was directing them where to put the boxes, having them stack them by room for easy organization later. Steve followed direction without question. He was still a soldier at heart. He knew how to follow orders.

Tony popped another piece of bread into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, watching out the window. Steve had taken off his flannel and just had a t-shirt on. It clung lovingly to his chest and back, but not as tightly as it had a year ago. He'd lost some weight. Tony didn't think it was really noticeable yet to anyone but him. For the most part, Steve still looked as god-like as ever.

Bobby must have thought so too. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of him for longer than a few seconds at a time. It wasn't sexual--at least Tony didn't think so--but it was definitely worshipful. Tony thought it was sweet. 

"It was nice of you boys to come help," Jen said. She and Tony were essentially the same age, and she was technically decades younger than Steve, but she and Jeff were _parents._ They gave off a strong, comforting parent-vibe. They had always acted almost like parental figures to Steve and Tony, as well. Tony liked that, and was glad it hadn't changed when Jeff passed away.

"Happy to do it," Tony said, and stretched in his chair. He took another sip of coffee and watched out the window as Steve and Bobby lifted an armoire down from the truck. "I'll bet you're glad they're moving in."

Jen nodded. "Yes. I just wish they'd done it while Jeff was still here. He always wanted the kids to come home."

Tony smiled at her. "He used to talk about it sometimes."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He was proud of them--saving up the money for the bakery themselves instead of asking you for it--but you're right. He wanted them home."

Tony glanced out the window at Steve. The sun was out and his hair was lit with golden highlights. God, he was beautiful.

"Is everything alright?" Jen asked. "You and Steve haven't had a fight?"

They had, actually, that morning. Pepper wanted Tony to go on a two-week business trip to London. Tony didn't want to go. Steve told him he should.

"Then come with me," Tony said, but Steve shook his head.

"I can't. I've got state inspections at the shelter this week, then the fundraising dinner and auction next week."

"Can't somebody else handle that?" Tony complained.

"Tony, I'm in charge of it. I put the whole thing together. I have to be there."

"What if I just gave you the money? I could write a check for the whole thing."

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "No. I told you. No."

"Well, why the fuck not?"

"Because you can't just throw money at every problem and have it go away, Tony," Steve flared.

"That's what a fundraiser _is,_ Steve," Tony shot back.

"I meant _you_ . Personally. _You_ can't just throw money at everything. That's not always a solution."

"Oh, trust me, Steve. I know that."

Steve said nothing, just stared at him with hurt, angry eyes, then stomped out of the house. Tony heard the Mustang growl to life then speed away.

Tony sighed. "Fuck."

They were due at Jen's by 11:00, but when Steve didn't come back by 10:45, Tony gave up and left. Steve was already there when Tony pulled up. They gave each other a terse "Hey" when Tony got out of the car, and that was all.

Tony carried a few boxes, then went inside for a glass of water. He never went back out.

He picked at his bread, used the pad of his thumb to gather up a stray crumb. He looked out the window again. "Yeah," he said reluctantly. "We had one."

Jen grasped his wrist. "Make up, sweetheart," she said. "It's not worth it. Whatever it is, it's not worth it."

He started to cry.

Just like that, he started to cry.

"Oh, Tony." She stood up and rounded the table. She put her arms around him.

Tony cried into her breast like he would have done with his own mother if given a chance. She put her cool, soothing hand on his back and held him while he cried. She didn't say it was going to be okay, or that everything was going to be alright. She had lost her husband of forty years only a year ago. She must have known that sometimes things _aren't_ okay. That they're _not_ going to be alright. 

When he quieted, she drug a chair closer to him and sat down. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" 

Tony told her.

Everything. 

\---

Steve avoided him the rest of the time they were at Jen's. At the door, Jen gave Steve a long, tight hug, then turned him aside where Bobby did the same, clinging to him like a koala, then stepped back finally to let Jasmine kiss his cheek and tell him thank you for helping. She gave him another loaf of banana bread, and Steve thanked her.

"See you at home," he mumbled to Tony without looking at him, then went out to his car.

Tony sighed, and Jen squeezed his shoulders. 

He left half an hour later, and drove home in silence. It was a cold, lonely ride without Steve there to hold his hand.

He tossed his keys into the bowl at the door, feeling a familiar pang when no Sir Purr came running, then went to the bedroom. Steve wasn't there, but the mirror was still fogged over from his shower, the scent of Skin Bracer sharp and intoxicating in the air.

Tony went to the back door and looked out. Steve was sitting on the deck, staring down at the lake. Tony went outside.

"I don't want you to be mad at me anymore," he said, and Steve looked up.

"I'm not mad," he said as Tony came near. He didn't look mad. Just alone. "Are you still mad?"

Tony stood in front of him, touched the smoothness of his cheek. "No."

"Really?"

His fingers ran back into Steve's hair. It was still wet from the shower, and it slid gloriously between them. "Really."

Steve hooked his finger through Tony's belt loop. "I didn't mean what I said."

"Yes, you did."

He sighed and put his forehead against Tony's stomach. "Okay. Yes, I did. But I shouldn't have said it. I wasn't trying to hurt you, Tony. I _never_ want to hurt you."

"I know that, baby."

"Do you? 'Cause some of the things I say…" he paused, shook his head without lifting it, "I'm a real dick sometimes."

"I love dick," Tony said, and Steve laughed helplessly. 

He pulled Tony onto his lap. "Shut up."

Tony curled easily into him, and Steve's arms wound around his waist, his head against Tony's chest. Neither of them thought about it. Their bodies knew where to go, what the placement of their limbs should be, knew just where they belonged. Like puzzle pieces or praying hands, they knew exactly how they fit together. 

Tony rubbed Steve's back with slow, even movements. "Hey," he said softly. "Um, I told Jen. It just slipped out. I'm sorry."

Steve went rigid for a moment, then relaxed. "It's okay."

"She won't say anything."

"I know. And I know we need to start telling people, I just...want a little more time."

Tony kissed his temple, rubbed his back. "Take as much time as you need."

Steved exhaled slowly. "How about the next forty years?"

Tony kissed him again. "Has Shuri-?"

"No," Steve said. "Turns out, there's no real cure for aging. She said she could put me in cryo, but what would be the point? Unless she put us both under."

"Where do I sign up?"

Steve laughed a little. Softly. Sadly. "No, Tony. That's not what I want for you. Or for me. I was frozen once. I don't think I could do it again."

"But you'd have me this time."

"I've got you now." He pulled away and looked at Tony. His eyes were troubled, the blue almost gray this time, like a stormy sea crashing onto treacherous shores. "Don't I?"

"You absolutely do."

Steve's eyes remained troubled, dark, probing into Tony's in the night air. "Has it been worth it, Tony?" he asked. "Being with me? It's okay if you say no, I know there's been a lot of-"

"Hey," Tony said emphatically. He shook him a little, and Steve stopped talking and just looked up at him, the question still there, still between them. 

Has it been worth it?

"I would live every second again, Steve," Tony said. "Every single second."

"Even the bad stuff?"

Tony ran his hands through Steve's hair, over his shoulders. " _What_ bad stuff?" he asked. "I don't remember any bad stuff."

Those clouds in Steve's eyes broke. The gray turned back to blue even as they filled with tears. He smiled. "I love you so much."

Tony nodded. "That's all I remember, baby. Just that."

Steve put his head on Tony's chest, held him tight. His tears were hot and steady. He cried for a long time, and Tony sat with him, his arms wrapped around him, loving him through it, thinking about how much he loved him, how much he'd always loved him, how much he _would_ always love him.

His best guy.

They went in to bed later, after the storm had passed, and lay fully entwined, pressed together from shoulder to ankle, arms tight around each other. They woke up the same way, and Tony called Pepper and told her he wasn't going to London. Somebody else would have to go. 

Steve didn't say anything, but in his heart, he was glad.

He had two years to live.

Part of him knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter in a couple days. I think there will be nine. I'm writing chapter 8 right now. I may post 8 and 9 on the same day. Just 'cause, why wait, right? Why prolong this thing any longer than we have to😊!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the end. Time is flowing by...

Steve had planned on telling everyone individually. Planned on giving everyone he loved the time and care they deserved, but after telling Bucky and Natasha, he knew he couldn't do it. Telling them had nearly torn him apart.

He told Bucky first. 

He did it in Brooklyn, in their old neighborhood. 

Steve hadn't been there in years, and Bucky said he had  _ never  _ been back. They walked the streets, hands shoved in their pockets, not talking much except to point out something that was the same, or something that had changed.

They had lunch, then sat down on a stoop near Bucky's old apartment. They sat side-by-side, shoulders brushing, and Steve just said it. Said he was dying. Said it wouldn't be long now. Said Shuri couldn't help him in any way he was interested in, and that when the time came, he was okay. He'd worked hard to be okay, and he thought he would be now.  _ Could  _ be now.

Bucky didn't say anything. He just stared straight ahead. It was summer, and the sun was still high. It caught tiny glints in the concrete and sent them back in flashes like hidden jewels. It was hot, and it should have been miserable sitting there in the heat, but it wasn't. Not to Steve. He tried to find the beauty in everything. He always had, but now, even more so. Now that his days were growing short. 

"It isn't fair, Steve," Bucky said, at last. 

Steve nudged him with his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Tony, does he…?"

"He knows."

"Is he alright?"

"No." Steve smiled his little half-smile.  _ Bucky's  _ half-smile. Of course it had been Bucky's first. "But he tries."

"Guess I'll try too, then."

Steve laid his head on Bucky's shoulder. They'd seen him through a lot over the years, those shoulders. "Thanks, Buck."

Bucky was silent, but he put his hand on the back of Steve's neck. It was enough for Steve. 

His meeting with Natasha went much the same until she cried.

He hadn't been expecting that. He probably should have, but he hadn't. 

She cried. Then he cried. And she said everything Tony had said. And he said everything  _ he'd  _ said. And she screamed at him for not telling her sooner. And he could see the pain--the anguish--in her eyes. And he tried to take her in his arms. And she shoved him away. And he said he was sorry, so, so, sorry Nat, please, I love you and I'm sorry, don't be angry, please, please? And then she broke down. And then she groped for him. And then they were falling, onto their knees, facing each other, sobbing into each other's skin. And she said no, no, no, no, Steve, you can't, it's not fair, honey, I need you, I need you, and Tony needs you, and we all need you, and you need us, and just  _ no.  _ And he said I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. And then there were no more words. And then they were just crying. And then they weren't, then they were just sitting. And she was just holding him, cradling him against her, caressing his hair. And he was curled into her,  _ letting _ her hold him, letting her rock him, letting her comfort him. And some time later, she said he would always be with her, always honey, always, never a day would go by that he wasn't with her, never a minute, never a second, she'd never let go. And he was quiet. And then he said thanks, Rose. And then she was quiet. And then she laughed. And then it was okay between them.

But he couldn't do it again. 

He wasn't strong enough. 

\---

Tony did the talking. 

He sat on the railing of the back deck, everyone assembled around him, and told them.

They were quiet.

The tears they shed were secret and hurriedly wiped away. They stole glances at Steve who sat in the corner, Natasha in his lap like a protective barrier. He kept a dry eye, but he didn't look at them. He didn't look up from where his fingers twirled a lock of her hair between them. He let his whole world fall away until nothing remained but the wordless music of Tony's soft voice and the silkiness of Natasha's hair. He didn't want to deal with anything else. He didn't even feel bad about it.

Yes, he did. 

But it was too late to change it now.

Most of them stayed for the weekend after, and while Saturday morning was subdued and careful, by Saturday night, it was anything but. Steve had an idea they'd had another meeting without him. Under any other circumstances, that would have pissed him off, this time though, he was grateful.

Tony grilled burgers, and they all drank beer. Clint played DJ, and queued up a bunch of songs Steve had never heard before and would hardly classify as music. But everyone seemed to be singing along and enjoying themselves, so he let it go. At one point, something called a "macarena" came on, and everyone but Steve, Bucky, and Wanda got up to do some kind of strange dance. Steve was fascinated and horrified. They all got drunk except for Steve, but he was pleasantly high on their company so it all evened out.

Around midnight, Clint put on some quieter songs, and they all started to get a little more mellow. They were still drinking, still talking, still laughing, but it was softer now. Sam and Wanda sat on the old wicker sofa. She put her head on his chest, and he tipped his head back, looking at the sky. Clint, Thor, Bruce, and Rhodey chuckled in the corner. Nat and Bucky spoke easy, fluid Russian in the doorway.

"Come dance with me," Tony said suddenly.

They were sitting on the steps, Tony's hand in Steve's, pressed tightly together. They hadn't spoken in a while, just enjoying the warm atmosphere that had fallen around them, so Tony's request was a bit of a surprise. 

Steve laughed. "No."

"Why not?" Tony asked, then eyed him accusingly. "They all danced with me. You never dance with me. In fact, you have never danced with me, period."

Steve kissed his fingertips. "I'm not sure what you guys did actually qualifies as 'dancing'. And  _ I  _ don't dance. You know that."

"I know you  _ can  _ dance," Tony countered. "Nat taught you 'lo these many years ago, so don't tell me you can't dance."

"I didn't say ' _ can't',  _ I said 'don't'."

"That is  _ fucked up,  _ soldier."

Steve looked at him from under his lowered lashes. "Does it really bother you?"

Tony shrugged. "I didn't think about it much 'til now."

"Does it bother you now?"

"I don't know."

Steve looked down at their hands. He hadn't thought about it much, either. There had never been any point, and Tony never brought it up. He assumed it was just one of those unspoken rules between them, like Steve did the laundry, and Tony mowed the lawn. It's not that either of them objected to the other chore, it just wasn't the way they did things.

They didn't dance.

It just wasn't the way they did things. 

And there were other associations with dancing that he didn't want connected to his life with Tony. Maybe that was selfish after all this time. Maybe that was wrong.

Some of that must have shown on his face. Not everyone could read him, but Tony could. He pressed against Steve's shoulder, squeezed his hand. "Hey," Tony said. "Hey, it's okay. It's not important."

"Are you sure?" Those storm clouds were back in his eyes, tainting the blue. "It's not that I don't want to be close to you, or--"

"You had my dick in your mouth last night, Steve--"

" _ Tony!" _

__ "--I'm pretty sure you like being close to me."

" _ God." _

__ Tony laughed at the red blush that stained his cheeks. God, that felt good. That he could still make Steve blush like a schoolgirl after all these years together. After all the things they'd said and done with each other-- _ to  _ each other--Steve could still get shy. And Tony could still get off on that.

Tony kissed him soundly. "I don't care, baby," he said. "It's not our thing anyway, right?"

" _ Are _ you sure?" The blush was still there, but so was the worry. 

Tony kissed him again, softer this time, lingering a little while. "I'm sure."

Steve nodded, a little smile playing around his lips. "That dick in my mouth thing, though?" he said. "I might would--"

"Jesus Christ, stop talking!" Clint yelled suddenly. Steve and Tony both turned around. "Mom and Dad don't have sex, " Clint went on. "You're scarring me for life, over here."

"You have kids, Barton," Tony said loudly. "You know that's not true."

Steve laughed. The blush was back, painting his cheeks in lovely, perfect pink, but he couldn't stop laughing. 

\---

Paris again. Autumn.

"Is it someday yet, baby?"

"Not yet, Tony."

\----

Tony woke from a nightmare of darkness, and pain, and clanging machinery with a jolt, automatically reaching out for Steve, but he wasn't there.

"Steve?" he called, and wiped sweat from his brow. His breath was short, his eyes unfocused, but they fixed on the line of light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Relief came almost instantaneously. Steve was here. Everything would be okay because Steve was here.

Tony waited, letting the nightmare leave his body, wanting Steve's arms around him, but willing to wait for them. And he  _ did  _ wait, breathing quietly in the dark, but after five minutes, he started to worry.

He got out of bed, turned the lamp on, then knocked on the bathroom door. "Baby?" There was silence, then a soft retching sound. "Steve? Steve, are you okay in there?"

"I'm fine."

It was Steve's voice, but it was weak, sick, and Tony opened the door. 

He was sitting on the floor next to the toilet. He was bare-chested, the shirt he'd worn to bed crumpled on the floor next to him, covered in vomit. His skin was alabaster-white, raised in goosebumps. He was shivering, sweating, his lower lip quivering.

"I'm fine," he said, and his blue eyes rolled up to meet Tony's. He immediately made himself a liar by turning his head to the toilet and ejecting a thin stream of bile from his throat. He spit into the bowl, wiped his mouth, and groped for the flush. "I'm fine," he whispered again.

Tony fell to his knees next to him. The nightmare he'd had was a distant memory, nothing compared to the nightmare playing out here in real time. He could feel the heat baking off him before he even touched him, could smell the odor of sickness clinging to him like a shroud. 

"Oh my god," Tony said. "Oh my god, baby, you're burning up." He slid his arm around Steve's waist. "Come on, let's get you up. Come on." He tried to stand him up, and Steve shook his head, wincing. 

"No," he muttered. "No, no, Tony, don't please, it hurts. Don't."

"What hurts?"

"When you touch me. It hurts."

Oh, and  _ that  _ hurt more than anything ever had.

Tony shook it off, shook off the pain, and stood up. "FRIDAY?" he called. "FRI, where are you?" He reached down and grabbed Steve's hands. "FRIDAY, for fuck's sake!"

"Don't," Steve panted, then leaned over and spit into the bowl again. Coughed up a string of saliva, then spit again. "Don't, Tony. Don't yell at her. It's not her fault."

"What?"

"I shut her down," Steve sighed.

"You  _ what? _ "

He nodded and closed his eyes. "Yeah."

"What the  _ fuck, _ Steve?"

"I didn't-I didn't want her to tell you I was sick."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his eyes. "Fuck, baby," he said under his breath. "Why'd you do that? You can't do that." He paused. " _ How  _ did you do that?"

The corner of Steve's mouth curved up in a tiny smile. "You told her to do whatever I say."

"No, I'm pretty sure I never said that."

"Yes, you did," Steve said softly. "A long time ago. In the training room at the Tower."

Tony looked at him incredulously. "How many times have you done this?"

Steve coughed, and Tony touched his shoulder. "Steve?"

"I'm okay." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't be mad at her," he said, neatly side-stepping Tony's question. "It's my fault. I told her to go off-line, and that she can't say anything to you after. Don't be mad."

Tony sighed. "I'm not mad," he said, and he wasn't. He was livid. But what good would it do? He put his hand on Steve's neck and dropped his forehead against his. "But I'm going to be closing that little loophole as soon as she's back on-line, okay?"

Steve nodded, thoroughly chastised. "Okay, Tony."

"Okay."

"Will you help me up?"

Tony put his arm back around his waist and helped lift him up. Steve groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just help me, okay?"

Tony took as much of Steve's weight as he could, and they shuffled to the bed. Tony eased him down. Steve laid over on his side, and Tony pulled the covers up over him, then grabbed his phone off the table.

"Don't," Steve said weakly, but Tony ignored him.

"Strange?" Tony said into the phone. "Steve needs you. Right now...No, he's not fucking okay. Just get here...I don't know, but he's burning hot and throwing up...Good.

"You didn't have to do that," Steve mumbled. "I'm fine."

He knelt at Steve's side, held his hand. The angry monkey in his head was throwing a fit inside its cage, but Tony ignored it. He pushed Steve's hair off his forehead and kissed him there. "Well, he's just going to make sure, okay?"

Steve moved closer to the edge of the bed, closer to Tony. "Okay, Tony. Whatever you want."

_ I want you better,  _ Tony thought.  _ I want you not to die. I want you to stay with me forever and ever. I want you, Steve. I want you.  _ "I just want you to rest, okay? Until Strange comes, you just rest here."

"Okay."

Tony started to get up to go get him a glass of water, but Steve held his hands. "Don't leave me, Tony."

"No. No, baby, I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry," Steve breathed. His eyes were closed and he was still shivering. "I should have told you I didn't feel good."

"Don't be sorry." He placed tiny kisses on Steve's cheek, his jaw. "It's okay."

"Don't be mad," Steve said again, and Tony shook his head as a portal opened behind him.

"I'm not," he said. "Here's Strange, baby, okay? He's gonna check you over."

"Okay."

Tony stood up, and Strange took his place on the floor. They did it without even looking at each other. To a casual observer, it would have looked nearly synchronized, like partners in a well-rehearsed dance. "Hello, Steve," Stephen said. "Tony tells me you aren't feeling well."

Tony felt like weeping. 

He sat in the chair and watched while Strange examined Steve. It all seemed pretty straightforward. A look in his ears and throat. Stethoscope to his chest and back. "Take a deep breath, Steve. Again. Good."

Steve kept his eyes on him. He was okay as long as Tony was in his line of sight. The one time Tony left the room, to get a cool cloth for Steve's forehead, he heard him ask Strange where he was, why he couldn't see him. Tony hurried back, gave Strange the cloth, then kissed Steve's bare shoulder, saying, "I'm right here, Steve. I'm right here."

Finally, Strange filled a syringe. "You're going to feel a pinch," he said, "and when you wake up, you will probably feel a little better."

Steve frowned. "Tony?"

"It's okay, baby. Doctor knows best."

"Okay."

Strange sunk the needle into his arm, and a moment later, Steve closed his eyes. His breathing evened out. Strange stood up, and Tony did, too.

" _ Do  _ you know best?" he asked. "What did you give him?"

"Just a sedative and a pain-killer. He'll probably sleep for twelve hours."

"What's wrong with him?"

Strange snapped his bag closed. "He has the flu. Keep him in bed. Give him plenty of liquids. If he isn't better in two days, call me."

Tony nodded and looked at his husband lying on the bed. He looked small, but peaceful enough. He turned back to Strange. "Two days," he repeated. "But not really, right? Because he's not really going to get better, is he?"

The look Strange gave him was one Tony had seen before. It was a mixture of his usual high-brow irritation and something else--something in his eyes that was almost kind. It was the same look he'd given Tony years ago in another life-and-death situation. Tony braced himself for the answer. He knew what it was, but he braced himself, all the same.

"He will feel better in a few days," Strange said, "but, no. He's not going to  _ get  _ better."

"How long? And please don't bullshit me. I can't right now."

"Six to eight months."

Tony took a deep breath and looked at Steve sleeping on their bed.  _ Their  _ bed.  _ Theirs. _ It was theirs now, but if Doctor Strange was right, by July, it would no longer be theirs. It would be  _ his.  _ Just his.

Bitterness and despair lodged in his throat, then made their way up it and out of his mouth. "What's the point, then?" he asked. "What's the point of anything? We're born, we live for a little while, then we just die? What's the fucking  _ point _ ?"

Strange shook his head. That almost-kind expression stayed, but there was disappointment now, too. Pepper used to give him a similar look from time to time. When she'd help him to bed sloppy drunk, or toss out one of his less-than-savory bed partners the next morning. And as much as the idea of them together irritated him, Tony could see why they'd fallen in love. "Opposites attract" was definitely a thing, but sometimes like really did call to like.

" _ You  _ are the point, Tony," Strange told him. "At least for Steve. Like he is the point for you. And Pepper is the point for me. Finding somebody. Making  _ their _ life better. I think that's the point."

"What do you do when that's gone, though?" Tony asked. 

Strange shrugged. "Some people find a new point. Some people...don't. But most find a way to move on. Or at least keep going, anyway."

"Until we die."

"That's right. Until we die."

"That's fucked up."

Strange nodded. "Yes. It is."

Tony looked at Steve again. His bare shoulder, his flushed cheeks, his red, red mouth. "I used to tease him about being older than me, but I always thought-" he laughed bitterly. "No, I  _ knew  _ I was going to die first."

"We never  _ really _ know, do we?" Strange said. He was looking at Steve too, but his mind was very clearly, elsewhere.

"What will you do if Pepper dies first?" Tony asked. 

Strange took a breath, then let it slowly out. He looked at Tony. "I'll remember her."

Tony wiped tears away. He wasn't sure when they'd started, but his face was wet with them.

He'd remember her.

It was as good an answer as any.

Tony nodded. He didn't feel better, but he felt easier somehow. Lighter. Like something had shifted inside him and let a small shaft of light into a dark tunnel that had not been illuminated for a very long time.

_ I'll remember  _ him, _ too _ , he thought. 

"Thank you for coming, Stephen," he said, and held out his hand.

Strange cocked an eyebrow and took it. "You're welcome, Tony."

"I don't really hate you as much as I think I do sometimes."

Tony could have sworn something like a smile passed over Stephen Strange's face. 

"Likewise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Tuesday or Wednesday. I'm almost finished writing. I'll probably have it done by Friday. Hopefully fully edited and posted by Saturday. We'll see.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little short. But I think it says everything I wanted it to say here.

He spent most of his time down by the water.

Tony spent it with him.

They drug a couple chairs out to the dock, and as winter bled into spring, they spent hours out there, watching as the ice receded day by day, starting at the shore, then creeping back toward the center. By March, it was gone, and the water began to lap against the sandy little beach.

Steve had gotten over the flu, but it weakened him. He was tired more now. He slept more. He ate less. When he held Tony's hand, it was not quite as firm. When he kissed him, it was softer, slower. They didn't have sex as much, and when they did, it was gentler. 

Tony didn't mind. He was just glad Steve was still here. He was just grateful for every moment they had.

He took a leave of absence from S.I. It had been Pepper's idea. She kept him apprised of everything over the phone, and once a week, she and Strange came down to the cabin. Strange spent time with Steve, examining him, checking him over, or sometimes just talking. Pepper spent it with Tony. When they left, Tony and Stephen would shake hands. The first couple times, Steve and Pepper just eyed each other nervously, then said stiff good-byes as they left. The third time, Pepper took his hand, and surprised him by reaching up to kiss his cheek. When she pulled away, her face was a mask of worry, clearly wondering if she had gone too far. Tony and Stephen glanced at each other, then back at Steve. They both wanted this to work out. 

Steve smiled, and he sighed. They all sighed, and it was as if a great wall had finally crumbled all around them.

"Thank you, Miss Potts," he said, squeezing her hand.

She wiped her lipstick off his cheek with her thumb. "It's Pepper," she said. "And there's nothing to thank me for, Steve."

After that, the visits were easier.

It was hard when Steve had to leave his jobs, though.

He typed formal letters of resignation on his old, carefully-preserved laptop, had Tony read them, then signed them and went to work.

He stood tall, proud, stiff-backed, head up as he tendered his resignations. He didn't show on the outside that he was being shredded apart on the inside. They understood, but it didn't matter. The damage, for Steve at least, was done. It was the quitting--especially quitting something he loved so much.  _ That  _ was the point.

Tony was there when he got home. He cooked while Steve sat out on the dock alone. He came out to get him when dinner was ready.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, and put his hands on Steve's shoulders.

Steve shook his head. His face was hard. It gave away nothing. "No."

Tony pressed his thumbs into Steve's shoulders, kneading the muscles. "What can I do?"

"Nothing. There's nothing anyone can do."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Steve shrugged under Tony's hands. "I don't know. I don't know if you want to be around me right now."

Tony bent and kissed his smooth neck. "I always want to be around you, Steve. But if you want me to go, I will."

It was quiet while Steve thought about it. Tony felt the anger and hurt and frustration coming off him. The feeling of "It's not fair". The feeling of hopelessness. It scared him. It hurt him. But he was quiet. Waiting. 

"Stay," Steve said finally, and looked up at Tony. He touched his hand. "Will you please stay?"

Tony leaned over and put his arms around his best guy. Steve closed his eyes. "I love you, baby," Tony whispered, breathing him in, basking in his aura, feeling him in his arms, a little less solid, a little less substantial, but still there. For the moment at least, he was still there. And Tony tried to give him something. What he needed--whatever he needed--to make him feel better. "I love you so much."

Steve tightened his grip on Tony's hands. "I love you too."

\---

The others started hanging around the cabin more.

Nat and Bruce. Sam. Wanda. Clint. Thor. Bucky didn't come as often, but he had never been one of "the kids". He was Steve's, not Tony's, so he didn't come to the house as much, but Tony heard them on the phone once, sometimes twice a day, talking to each other. Not about anything in particular--just talking. Tony never really felt jealous over Steve anymore--he had no reason to--but sometimes, seeing the half-smile on Steve's face while listening to Bucky on the phone, there'd be a recurrence of that old jealous flare. He welcomed it, in a way. Relished it. It reminded him of old times.

In June, Nat, Sam, and Wanda came for the weekend. Tony stayed in the city. Steve didn't ask him to, but he did it anyway. Everyone could see that Steve was getting more frail, and the three former rogues came to spend one last weekend alone together.

Tony didn't worry about him while he and Rhodey shot pool and drank beers in some dive bar on the outskirts of town. He missed him, but he didn't worry about him.

Sam was sitting on the porch when Tony got home. Natasha had taken a quietly sobbing Wanda home, and Steve was napping. 

"How'd it go?" Tony asked, after hugging him hello.

"I think it was good," Sam answered. "He was happy."

"Good."

They looked at each other. It was afternoon. A few boats moved on the lake, but it was Sunday, and they moved slowly. No Saturday morning shenanigans now, just peace and quiet.

"It's not going to be long, is it, Tony?"

He shook his head. 

Sam looked out at the lake. He'd never gotten married, but he and Sharon Carter had started seeing each other a few months ago when she came back from London. Tony hoped it worked out. He thought they both deserved some happiness.

"God, I remember when I first saw him," Sam said. "I'd never seen anything like that before. It was…" He trailed off into a disbelieving laugh. Tony understood completely. 

"I know."

"And then when we started talking, and he was  _ nice? _ And funny. And smart." He shook his head. "I didn't think there were people like that outside of the movies."

"I don't think there are that many."

"Me neither." 

Sam picked up his bag and hoisted it carelessly onto his shoulder. Tony was not surprised to see it looked almost exactly like Steve's old go-bag. Army-grade canvas. Patched. Frayed. Mended with duct tape on one side. But sturdy. Comfortable. 

"I know I should feel lucky," Sam said. "That I got to meet him, and know him. And I do. I do feel lucky." Some bitterness crept into his voice. It was wholly divorced from his usual tone. It didn't sound right coming from him, but Tony thought he deserved to feel it. As unnatural as it sounded, he had a right to it. "But this is so far beyond fucked up that it almost hurts to breathe."

Tony grasped his hand. "I know."

Sam wiped his eyes with one cupped hand. "I hate this."

"Me too."

"He deserves better."

"I know."

Sam shook himself, and then he was back under control. Steve could do that too. Just blink and be back in control. Go from wild-eyed and frantic to cool and calm in an instant. Steve didn't use the ability much around Tony. He trusted him with his vulnerabilities. But he could do it.  _ Must be the soldier in them _ , he thought.

"Do you want me to stay?" Sam asked.

"You don't need to, but you're welcome to," Tony said. "Anytime." He looked at his shoes, shuffled them a little and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Even, you know, after. You'll still be welcome. I hope you know that."

Sam pulled him into a one-armed hug. Tony let himself sink into its warm reassurance a little, then pulled away.

"Thanks Tony. I'm going to take you up on that."

"You know those movie-guys we were talking about?" Tony said.

"Yeah?"

"You're one of 'em too."

Sam flapped a hand at him and shook his head, smiling. "I'll see you soon, Tony."

"Yeah. See you."

Tony watched him go, happy he'd made Sam happy, and wishing desperately it would have happened in any other circumstance. 

He waved as Sam drove away, then took his bag into the bedroom. He moved quietly. Steve was still asleep on their bed, turned on his side, his arms wrapped around Tony's pillow the way they always did when he slept alone.

Tony kicked his shoes off, tossed his jacket on the chair, keeping his eyes on Steve's sleeping form. He didn't look a lot older. There were a few more lines on his face. His hair was silver mixed with the gold. He was thinner, but still not as skinny as he'd been after The Raft. He looked a smooth, handsome sixty, like Cary Grant in an old movie. It was what was beneath his skin that betrayed his true age. 

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, lifted Steve's arm, and slid beneath it. It tightened around him automatically as he cuddled up to Steve's chest. Soon, he felt lips on his ear, a hand move to touch the reactor. 

"How was your weekend?" A deep, sleepy rumble Tony felt all through his body. 

"Okay. But I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Then there were tiny, soft kisses on his neck, his hair. 

Tony shifted closer and hummed in contentment. "I thought about you the whole time I was gone."

The kisses stopped. Tension replaced them. Tension in the arms holding him. Tension in the air surrounding him.

"Steve?"

"You need to stop doing that."

Flat. Almost cold. Tony shuddered. 

Tony turned to face him. "Stop doing what?"

"Thinking about me."

Tony blinked, jerking back a little, confused. "Steve--?"

Then the arms were gone. The warmth against him was gone. Steve rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His hands rested on his stomach. Tony could see the flash of ink on the inner part of his left wrist. So small and secret, a fluid swirl of letters: TS.

It had almost been a joke. A silly thing one night in the city a couple years before. Tony grinding into him in an alley, sucking on his neck, whispering about how much he wanted to mark him up, bruise him, brand him, show the whole fucking world he was his.

"Do it," Steve panted, as he rutted up against him. "Do it, Tony. I want everybody to know who I belong to." And then he buried his face in Tony's neck, muffling his moans in his skin. 

The next morning over brunch, Tony asked if he'd meant it.

"Meant what?" Steve asked, pouring an obscene amount of syrup on his waffles. 

"Would you let me mark you up?"

Steve had been lifting a fork of waffles to his lips. He stopped and looked at Tony. His eyes were dark blue. The same blue as the interior of his car. The blue that equaled anger. Or lust. Tony didn't think he was angry now. "What did you have in mind?"

Tony eyed him for a moment, then slid his sunglasses back on. "Finish your breakfast, then we'll go see."

The result was there on his wrist now. Tony had been prepared to beg, but he'd barely had to ask. Steve just sat in the tattoo artist's chair, pointed at his wrist, and said, "Not too big, 'kay? This is just for us." Tony liked to run his tongue across it as he rode Steve's cock. It was the best $150 he'd ever spent.

He touched it, ran his thumb over it now. "I'm not going to stop thinking about you, baby," he said. "I'm never going to stop thinking about you."

The muscle in Steve's jaw worked. "You have to," he said.

Tony brought his hand to his mouth, kissed his own initials, then kissed Steve's fingers one by one. "I can't. And even if I could, I wouldn't. I  _ want  _ to think about you. Just you. Forever."

"You need to find somebody else," Steve said, but it was quiet. He didn't mean it. Tony could tell. For all his talk, Tony knew a selfish, greedy part of him wanted Tony to go the rest of his life faithful only to him. And Tony understood that.  _ Loved  _ that. Because he would want that too. If the situation was reversed, and he was the one dying right now, he wouldn't want Steve to be with anyone else, either. They'd gotten too close. Were too bound up in each other. It wouldn't be fair to anyone else to invite them into this tight, demanding, ethereal whirlwind they'd created, anyway. It would surely tear them apart. 

Tony raised himself up on his elbow and traced Steve's mouth with his finger. It was still so perfect, that mouth. Strong, masculine, but soft, made to be kissed. Tony did it now.

"I'm never going to find anybody else," he said, and kissed him again.

"I don't want you to be alone," Steve murmured, arching into Tony's kisses, into the hands now roaming his body.

"I won't be alone, baby." His clever hands undid Steve's belt, and now he was kissing his chest, his stomach.

Steve bit his lip. "Tony--"

"No. Shh. Don't think about it, okay? I'll be fine. I'll be just fine," he said, and then he had Steve's cock in his mouth, and he didn't say anything else.

Steve's hand found his hair and guided him, even though he didn't need any guidance in the ways of Steve's pleasure and they both knew it. 

Tony had a feeling this was going to be the last time. He knew it. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that this was going to be the last time that they would be together like this, and he wanted it to be good. He wanted it to be everything that Steve wanted. So, he let him guide him, taking his cues from a hand in his hair, an inhale of breath, a moan, and experience. And when he came, Tony swallowed it down, just the way Steve liked, then sucked him lightly as an aftershock of tremors ran through his husband's body. The hand in his hair tightened painfully--but good, oh so fucking good--and then Tony pulled off of him. He unbuckled his own belt one-handed while he leaned over to kiss him. Steve licked hungrily into his mouth, chasing the taste of himself on Tony's tongue.

"Tony," he whispered urgently. "Tony, please?"

"Where do you want it, baby?"

"On me. Okay? On my face. Please."

Tony rose up on his knees and jerked his cock fast. It was good. So good, having Steve's eyes on him while he did this. Having Steve's hand on his thigh, his lips open a little, waiting, his cheeks red, his mouth redder, and Tony tried to burn this into his brain. The sight of Steve laid out for him, so beautiful, so perfect, so  _ everything  _ in the afternoon light filtered by partially-drawn shades, his taste, his scent--Skin Bracer and wildflowers and fabric softener and the wood oil he used on the furniture--and it was home. Just home, home, home. And it was too much, too good, too heart-breakingly, earth-shatteringly  _ sad.  _ Tony came, his release hitting Steve's face, his neck, his mouth, and Tony's sob of despair was lost in a cry of bliss.

He leaned over, kissed Steve's mouth, licked his cheek, his chin, while Steve shook beneath him, then used a corner of the sheet to wipe the rest away.

"Oh fuck, Tony, that was…"

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

He laid down, his head on Steve's chest, right over his heart so he could hear it in his ear, and held onto him as tightly as he could.

"I love you, Tony," Steve said, his voice still ragged. "I've loved you for so long. Forever. My whole life. Before I met you, I never dared to dream there'd be somebody like you. I never thought I'd get anything this good."

"Me neither, baby. I didn't...come alive until I met you. I existed, but you opened my eyes. You made me who I am. You made me whole."

"You won't forget me, will you, Tony? When I'm gone? You'll remember me, right?"

Tony didn't wipe away his tears. He just let them fall. "Always, baby. I'll always remember. Forever and ever."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

\---

Steve never made carbonara again. 

They never flew to Paris again.

They never did go see The Mona Lisa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about Paris: that is not what I had planned. It just happened. Or didn't happen. 🙁.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously don't own "Harry Potter". Just borrowed a few passages. Thanks, J.K. Rowling!

July 4th.

Independence Day.

The sun was still below the horizon line, but it wouldn't be for long. Already its rays were lightening the sky. On the lake, one solitary boat drifted, riding the tiny ripples with ease. In it, was a man and his young daughter. They had fishing poles in the water, but they weren't paying them much attention. Neither of them actually expected to catch anything. They never had. But they loaded their poles into the truck every weekend anyway. If it was raining, they stayed in the truck, playing cards and sharing pb&j sandwiches and a thermos of orange juice. If it was clear, as it so often was, they came out onto the lake, put their lines in the water, then just drifted. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes she fell asleep--or  _ he  _ did--sometimes they didn't. She was thirteen, but she never took a selfie or posted anything while they were out there. He was a lawyer, but he never accepted calls or answered e-mails. They just drifted. They were just together.  _ That  _ was the point.

"There he is, Dad," she said, and lifted her chin in the direction of the Stark place.

"I wondered if we'd see him today."

They watched the man come out of the house. He stood on the deck, stretched a little, then picked up the watering can by the door. He filled it from the tap, then slowly made his way down the steps, watering the pots of flowers that sat on them. He had to refill the can twice. There were a lot of pots. A lot of flowers. 

When he was done, he went back inside, but only for a moment. He came back out carrying some things. It was always the same things. They knew from watching him for so long that they were a book and a sketchpad. He didn't use them much, but he had used them enough over the years that they knew what they were. 

"How come he stopped running, Dad?" she asked. "He used to run every morning."

"I don't know, pumpkin. Maybe he got sick. He moves a little slower now."

They watched him come down the lawn, out onto the dock, then sit down in his chair. Sometimes his partner would come down with a cup in his hand. He'd lean over and kiss him, then throw himself into the other chair. He didn't always come down. He wasn't as constant as the big blond man. 

He looked out at the lake, saw them in the boat, and raised his hand. They raised theirs too.

"Do you think he's okay?"

"I'm sure he's just fine."

She kept her eyes on him. The morning was warm, but he was wearing a denim jacket, a cap on his head. He picked up his sketchpad and moved his hand over it. She wondered what he was drawing.

"I hope so," she said.

The sun came up over the horizon then, turning the water into a sea of shimmering crystal. His hand kept moving over the paper. She watched, resting her cheek on the side of the boat. "What did you say his name was, Dad?"

"Steve Rogers."

"And he was in the army or something?"

He laughed and touched her hair. "Well. Something like that. It was awhile ago."

"How do you know?"

He laughed again. "I just do."

"Do you know him?"

"No."

"He seems nice."

"I've heard he is."

"We should go over there someday," she said. "Introduce ourselves."

He nodded thoughtfully. He'd had a Captain America poster in his dorm room in college. "Maybe we will."

On the other side of the lake, a loud whining motor came to life. There was a  _ Whoop! _ then a speedboat came tearing along the water.

She lifted her head, met her father's eye and groaned. He gave her a rueful smile. 

"Guess that's our cue," he said. 

"Yeah."

They reeled in their lines, stowed their gear, and started the motor. As they putted toward shore, she raised her hand to Steve Rogers again.

He raised his in return.

\---

"Hey, baby."

Steve didn't say anything as Tony approached. Just sat still, his cap on his head, denim jacket folded neatly at his side.

Tony touched his shoulder, and he started, looked up at his husband. Tony smiled apologetically. "Hey, you."

"Fuck you."

Tony bent and brushed his waiting lips with his own. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Steve curled his fingers into Tony's shirt. "Kiss me again and I'll forgive you. "

"You drive a hard bargain, Rogers," he said, and kissed him again, much more thoroughly. When he pulled back at last, he raised an eyebrow. "How'd I do that time?"

Steve slipped his thumb under Tony's shirt and caressed his bare skin with a familiar, comfortable touch. "Not bad, I guess."

"Smartass," he said, and pecked his lips one more time.

Steve smiled as Tony drug his chair as close as possible and sat down in it. He gestured out at the lake with his cup. "Looks like half the town's out there."

"July Fourth. They probably are."

"Fourth of July, huh?" Tony asked. 

"Yup."

"One of my favorite days of the year."

They didn't talk much about birthdays anymore. Not since Steve started to age, but Steve glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his mouth curving upward a little.

Tony leaned into him. Kissed his cheek. His skin was soft and warm under his lips. "Whatcha working on?" he said.

"Nothing much."

"Just scribbling?"

"Yeah."

Tony picked the sketchpad out of his lap and looked at it. It was the lake. A hint of waves made with a brush of charcoal. A boat bobbed in the water. A boat with two figures in it, one bigger than the other, the smaller one vaguely feminine.

"They were out there again, huh?" Tony asked, still looking at the picture.

"Every nice Saturday." Steve smiled a little. "She's getting tall. She was just a little thing when they started coming out here. She's all grown up now."

"I guess it has been a while," Tony said softly. His eyes never left Steve's drawing. He was as floored as always by Steve's talent, and even though the lines were a little less clear, a little shaky now, the emotions Tony felt were as strong as ever. Peace. Sweetness. Freedom. His eyes hovered near the bottom. Steve had written one word in a slightly trembling hand--INDEPENDENCE. He rarely named his drawings, and Tony had no idea if it was meant as a title, a date, or a statement, but it was absolutely perfect. Absolutely right. This one was going up on the wall. He wanted it. He wanted to look at it every day for the rest of his life. It called to him, and he wanted it.

Just like Steve himself. 

That something in him that made him who he was. It had called to Tony, and Tony had wanted him. He'd gotten him too. He took his hand. 

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "They don't live in town, though. I've never seen them."

Tony pressed closer, laid his cheek against Steve's upper arm. "No, they drive in."

"It's this place," Steve said. "It's special. Isn't it?"

Tony nodded. "Yes. It is."

"Yeah. This is the best place," Steve said. His thumb moved against Tony's wrist, sweeping softly against the thin skin. Tony didn't have a tattoo. He didn't need one. Steve had carved his initials deep into his heart. "It's my favorite place." He chuckled. "I'm glad you talked me out of leaving that night."

Tony tightened his grip on Steve's hand. "Would you have really left?"

Steve was quiet, watching the lake, the boats, the water-skiers. A hundred kids played games and splashed on the far side. They could hear the motors, the music, the little shrieks of children's laughter, but it wasn't loud. Not here. They were inside their bubble. Inside their little world, where it was just the two of them.

"I didn't want to," Steve said at last. "But, yeah. I would have. I didn't think I deserved it then."

"What do you think now?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't really give much of a shit about what I deserve anymore," he said. "All I care about is what I want."

Tony laughed, sat up straight, and kissed his jaw. "Spoken like a true Stark. I'm rubbing off on you."

"You rub off on me all the time," Steve said. "Like a dog."

Tony laughed again, long and hard, and Steve watched him through his lashes, smiling a tiny, pleased smile. He loved making Tony laugh.

Tony wiped his eyes. "You really  _ are  _ funny sometimes."

"Just like a true Stark."

"Steve Stark," Tony said playfully.

"Tony Rogers."

"That sounds so wrong," Tony said. "It's  _ Stark- _ Rogers, if you don't mind."

Steve's eyes hadn't left Tony's face. A moment ago, they'd been filled with humor, but now they darkened, those old storm clouds rolling in. "Just like Sir Purr," he said quietly. 

Tony sighed. The levity was gone suddenly. He was still smiling, but there was a new seriousness between them. It had been there before. It crackled in the air like electricity just as it had the night Natasha and Bruce got married. The night Steve and Tony spoke about their own marriage. 

"Yeah," Tony said. "Just like Sir Purr."

Steve kissed his hand, his eyes never leaving Tony's. They were deep, Steve's eyes. Deep and cloudy and anxious. "You should put that on my headstone."

Tony's mouth went dry. "What?"

"Steven Grant Stark-Rogers."

"Are you serious?" Tony asked, and it was a wonder he could speak at all. There seemed to be no air in his lungs. No air in the  _ air _ . It seemed like he would drown if they said the wrong things right now. "Baby, you'd want that?" They'd never talked about that before. What Steve wanted. He had a little notebook where he'd written some things--he'd left it purposely out a few times so Tony could see it--but they'd never talked about it. But this. This was too important  _ not  _ to talk about.

Steve nodded. "I'd like that. If you don't mind. That's what I want." He drew in a breath, then let it out. Tony did the same. The air was back. He could breathe again. He was going to cry, but at least he could breathe.

" _ Mind _ ?" Tony asked, then pressed their foreheads together. He closed his eyes. Closed them to keep in the tears that threatened. "No, baby, I don't  _ mind _ ."

"It's okay?"

Tony inclined his head until their lips met. "It's more than okay."

Steve closed his own eyes. He held Tony's hand--his husband's hand, in name now too, instead of just in spirit. "'Kay," he said. "Good. That's good."

\---

They went into the house around noon. Tony put his arm around Steve's waist. Steve leaned into him, letting him take some of his weight. He was pretty tired. It was funny. He hadn't done much today except water the flowers, draw, and watch the people on the water, but he was still tired. He'd take a nap after lunch. He usually waited until three or four, but he didn't think he could wait that long today. A sleepy feeling had settled into his limbs. A heaviness that hadn't been there before.

Tony made grilled cheese. Steve was glad. He liked grilled cheese. And he liked that Tony cut it into rectangles. He hated the way sandwiches looked cut on the diagonal. It looked too sharp to his eye. Too severe. There was nothing inviting about those sharp points. He drank a can of Coke too. It was sweet, and bubbly, and good. It reminded him of old times. Coke had been around the block a few times. Just like him. Tony asked if he wanted anything else, but he was full. There had been a day not long past when he would have eaten three sandwiches, an apple, downed two cans of soda, and topped it off with a dozen Oreos, but not anymore. That was okay. That was fine. Just fine.

"Think I might go take a nap," he said as Tony put the dishes in the sink.

"So early?"

"Yeah. I'm tired."

Tony came and stood between his knees. Steve hooked a finger through his belt loop. "Do you feel okay?"

Steve nodded. "Just sleepy."

"Okay."

"Um. Would you come lay down with me?" Steve asked, not quite meeting his eye. "Just for a little while?"

Tony frowned, touched Steve's forehead, searching for signs of a fever. "Are you sure you feel okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, and twined his fingers with Tony's. He looked at their linked hands. He wasn't sure why he couldn't look in his eyes right now. He just couldn't. He shrugged. "Just don't want to be alone."

Tony's fingers felt nice in his hair, on his cheek. Cool and soft. He loved it when Tony touched his cheek like that, when he slipped his hand back through his hair. He'd went so long with no one to touch him. And when they did, it was never with gentle, tender fingers. It was never to try and make him feel good. He could count on the fingers of one hand the people who had touched him gently before the ice, and then after, there'd been no one. No one until Tony that night at the farmhouse. That night when Tony touched his shoulder to help him come down from a nightmare. Tony was the first. The best. And while Tony had taken a lot from their near-constant skin-on-skin contact over the years--all Steve had, and he had adored every second of it--that first touch was purely selfless. It had been for Steve and Steve alone. Just a hand on his shoulder. Just his eyes, his dark eyes like aged bourbon that would go down so smooth and light a fire in your belly when it reached its destination. Just the two of them. Like it was just the two of them now. Like it was just Tony's hands on him now, his eyes on him, and he felt like crying because of how happy he was. How happy he'd always been. Because of Tony. It was all because of him. Everything he was. His dreams. His reality. His memories. It was all because of him. And he wanted him now. He needed him now. He didn't know why, but he was tired--so goddamn  _ tired _ \--and he needed Tony to be near him. Needed to feel him. Needed Tony to feel him too. Needed Tony to listen to his heart beating and know every beat was for him. Needed Tony to feel him breathing and know every inhale, every exhale was for him.

"Please?" he said. "I know you've probably got stuff to do, but-"

Tony kissed him, and Steve sighed into his mouth. It was going to be okay. Tony was here. Tony was here, so everything was going to be okay. 

"Are you kidding?" Tony said. "You know I love afternoon cuddles."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure, baby."

Baby.

Tony called him baby. Still. Even though he was older now--had  _ always  _ been older, really--Tony still called him baby.

God, he loved that.

Steve stood up, still holding Tony's hand. They went to the bedroom, and Steve sat down and toed his shoes off. He adjusted his pillows, and Tony climbed over him to get to his side. Tony laid down and made grabby hands at him. "Come here," he said. "I need my human blanket."

Steve laid on his side, put his head on Tony's stomach, his arm around him, holding him close. He closed his eyes, the gentle rise and fall of Tony's stomach lulling him.

"Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you read to me? Until I fall asleep?"

Tony's hand was in his hair again. Soft. Soothing. Perfect. "Sure. What do you want? We finished  _ The Hobbit." _

"How 'bout  _ Harry _ again?"

Tony laughed, scritched his fingers into Steve's scalp. "Again?"

"It's my favorite."

"Mine too."

Tony opened the drawer on the table and took out the book. They read a lot of e-books on Tony's tablet, but the actual physical copy of  _ Harry Potter _ was always in the drawer. It wasn't the same one. That had disintegrated in Tony's hand the second time through. They'd had a little funeral for it. They buried it next to Sir Purr with full military honors. They both made light of it, but later, they both found themselves shedding a solitary tear for it. Yes, it was just a book, and they had a brand new copy, but it had meant something. Before he buried it, Tony took a page and put it in his box.

"Ready, baby?" Tony asked, and put his glasses on.

"Yes."

"Comfy?"

"Uh-huh."

"'Kay. Here we go. ' _ Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…" _

Steve listened to Tony read, listened to his voice as it changed while reading Vernon and Petunia, and Dudley and Harry. Steve was pretty sure he didn't do it on purpose--it was just him. Just him getting into the story. Steve loved it. Loved him. Loved him so much. So, so much. So much that his heart hurt. His chest hurt.

His chest hurt.

His chest hurt, but he was too tired to say anything. Too tired to move.  _ Tony,  _ he tried to say, but he couldn't open his mouth. It was too hard.  _ Tony, my heart. My heart.  _ Tony kept reading, kept his hand in Steve's hair, and the pain went away, borne on the overwhelming love he felt, and the feeling of Tony's hand on him, and his voice in his ear. It went away. The pain. And all that was left, was the love. The love that had been his most constant, ever-present, all-consuming emotion since forever.

Love. 

It was just love.

It was all just love.

Love like deep waters, like the lake outside the window, and he waded out into it, and let it flow over him, let it leech away his strength because he  _ was _ tired now. He'd been tired for so long, and the only reason he'd stayed as long as he had was because of the man here with him right now, the man holding him, the man who had made his entire life, his entire existence mean something. Tony. Tony was his legacy. The most vital, important, meaningful thing he'd ever done. Tony and the love they shared. And maybe it was just a little thing. Maybe it didn't mean anything to anyone else, but to Steve Rogers, it was the only thing. It was everything. 

_ I love you _ , he thought as he drifted away into those waters that now surrounded him.  _ I love you, Tony. Only you. Always you. I love you. I love you. I love-- _

\---

He kept reading. 

At some point, he became aware that his husband had gone still.

He kept reading.

His hand kept moving in Steve's hair. Tears fell, but he didn't notice them. They clouded his eyes, but he blinked a few times, and they cleared again.

He kept reading. 

His heart was breaking. His heart. His heart. It hurt. He touched Steve's cheek. His forehead. His neck. That smooth muscle. It was lax now, and there was no pulse beneath his fingers.

He kept reading. 

"' _ So,' said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, 'you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.'" _

__ Tears again. He noticed this time, but didn't care. Steve's smooth, soft, pale skin was what he cared about. Fingers through silver/blond hair, tracing fine, perfect lips, he cared about that too. 

His heart. Oh god, his  _ heart.  _

"' _ It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts--'" _

__ He stopped reading. 

He stopped reading, and he never read it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last of it. Sorry it's a little late. I rewrote it 4 times. Still not sure I'm 100% happy, but I will never be completely happy, so here it is!

"Get up."

Tony didn't say anything. He just wrapped the blankets closer around himself. Like a coccoon. Like a shroud.

"Get up."

Tony tightened the shroud. His eyes were already closed, but he squeezed them tighter. He didn't want to see. Didn't want to get up. He was tired. And sad. He'd just stay here. He'd just pull the blankets tighter. If he did that, he could still smell Steve in them a little. If he did that, he could still pretend that he'd just gotten up to go for a run. He'd call him for breakfast soon. Saturday morning pancakes. Butter. Syrup. Fruit on the side.  _ Do you want an egg too, Tony? No, no sausage. Doctor Strange says you need to watch your cholesterol. No, Tony. I said no...Okay, fine, one piece, but that's all. And don't tell on me. Miss Potts'll kill me if I kill you. _

__ Kill me.

But we don't talk about that. Not that. Never that. Not anymore.

Tony pulled the shroud tighter still.

A hand shook him. It bit into his skin, hard, relentless. Metal.

Bucky?

"I said get up, Stark. Now."

Tony shook his head. After breakfast, they did the dishes. Usually, Tony helped, but sometimes, he didn't. Sometimes he could get out of it by getting Steve to talk about something he loved. Or get him laughing. That was Tony's favorite. Making him laugh. Watching him throw his head back, and squeeze his eyes shut. It didn't happen a lot, that full-body laugh, but Tony could do it. He'd made it his life's mission to do it as often as he could. Then he'd reward himself by stealing a kiss. Or two. Or twelve. Or a hundred. And that was his favorite too. Everything was his favorite. Everything with Steve.

"Stark."

The shroud was pulled away with a rough jerk. Light poured into his eyes, assaulting him. Damnit, Steve, close the blinds. What the fuck?  _ Oh, come on, Tony, let the sun in. It's not going to kill you.  _

__ Kill you.

Don't talk about that, I said!

Tony grabbed for the shroud. He didn't want to be out in the open like this. It didn't smell like Steve out here. Out here, Steve was further away. He didn't want him to be further away. He wanted him close. Close to him. Lying with him. Lying with his head on his stomach, his hand on the reactor, or under his shirt, touching his skin. He wanted to feel him, and smell him, and taste him. He wanted him. He wanted his human blanket. He wanted Steve. 

Steve. 

He wanted Steve. 

He tried for the shroud again, but it was pulled out of his hands.

"Come on. Get up. Get out of bed. You've been in here long enough. Get your ass up."

He put his hands over his face. If he couldn't have his shroud, he could have this. He could still shut it out. Still hide. Still pretend. It's Saturday. Saturday morning.  _ Tony! Come get breakfast. It's ready. _ But sometimes Tony didn't get up. Sometimes Steve had to come get him. Sometimes he'd lean over, nuzzle his ear, run his hands over him. If he was very still, and very lucky, sometimes that hand would slide down and grip him through his sweats. Steve was exceptionally good at Saturday morning hand-jobs. They were even better than his Saturday morning pancakes. 

And those pancakes were mind-blowing.

A hand did grip him now, but it was just on his shoulder. And it was Bucky's, not Steve's. And it was rough, not gentle/firm. And it shook him instead of stroked him. And Tony didn't want  _ that  _ hand. He didn't want  _ Bucky.  _ He wanted Steve. He always wanted Steve. He only wanted Steve. He wanted--

"Get up, Stark," Bucky said, and his voice was cold. Hard. As hard as his metal fingers biting into the tender flesh of Tony's shoulder. "I swear to god, if you don't get out of that bed right now, I'll drag you out."

You can't talk to me that way.

Tony rolled away onto his side. Steve wasn't there, though. No Steve to curl up against. No Steve to put his arm around him. No Steve to cuddle him. No Steve at all.

" _ Tony. _ Please."

Tony opened his eyes. 

The handsome face was haggard. The eyes raw. The jaw firm. It was a hard face. Tony saw coldness there--shreds of the Winter Soldier--and he was afraid, but there was goodness too. He was trying to keep it hidden, but Tony could see it around the edges. In the corners of his eyes.

Bucky began folding the blanket with jerky movements. "Your friends are going too easy on you," he said. "They want to 'give you time to heal'." He shook his head in disgust. "But I ain't your friend. And I don't give a shit about your feelings."

Bucky tossed the blanket on the chair. He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that was undeniably Steve's. Tony's heart broke a little more, seeing that. But he felt something else too. Not hope. That was gone. Lost to him forever. Something else though. Maybe there wasn't even a word for it. Maybe it was just an idea. A notion. Maybe it was just...less pain? He sat up.

"All I know is that if he was here right now, he'd be dragging your ass out of bed," Bucky said gruffly. "So, that's what I'm doing. Dragging your ass out of bed. So get up. Get in the shower. Brush your damn teeth." 

He met Tony's eyes. Tony saw his own anguish reflected back at him. Saw his own dark, haunted soul in Bucky's eyes. Saw how  _ his  _ light had been stolen as surely as Tony's had. Saw how much  _ he  _ needed this. "Okay?"

_ He's my family. The only family I ever had until you guys. _

_ He's more than my brother. He's like my other half. My better half. _

__ Tony nodded. "Okay."

It was the first word he'd spoken in three weeks.

\---

Bucky never officially moved in. He just never really left.

He went on missions--a  _ lot  _ of missions--but he always came back to the cabin afterward. He threw his few things up in the loft and slept there. That was fine with Tony. He and Steve had never made love in that bed. They had slept together there once, but all that happened between them was a few soft kisses and the comfort of finally being in each other's arms again. The kitchen table had been defiled more than the loft, and the living room couch could almost be considered a third party in their relationship. It had certainly played a very large part in their sex life over the years. 

So, the loft was probably the best place for Bucky to sleep. Not that he slept much. He was like Steve--and Tony--that way. He worked out a lot. He roamed the house at night. He swam in the lake. He wasn't there much, even when he was there, but he was still  _ there. _

__ And it helped.

Tony never went back to S.I. Pepper had it under control. She just kept up their routine of daily phone calls and weekly visits. Strange didn't always come with her anymore, but he still came a lot. Rhodey came twice a week. Rain or shine. Missions or no. He'd stay the whole day from breakfast through dinner, then drive away in his Lexus thinking Tony looked a little older, but hell, they were  _ all _ older now, weren't they? Only Wanda, Thor, Peter--and Bucky--still looked young. The rest of the kids came too. They came for dinners, parties, holidays. The first Christmas was hard, but Natasha and Bruce came down to be with him. Clint and Laura came too, and brought all their kids, and two grandkids. Tony thought it was hilarious Clint was a grandfather. 

Tony went to them too, but not as much. He spent most of his time at home. Most of his time outside. He drug his chair over to the little plot of land where Steve was buried and sat there. Sir Purr was there too. It was their family plot. The Stark-Rogers plot, and he fully intended to be buried there himself someday. Someday soon. Steve wasn't the only one who had been getting tired.

He didn't go to Doctor Strange. Bruce could run all the same tests Strange could, and he did. He gave him five years. That sounded like a long time to Tony, but it was fine. Just fine 

He never moved Steve's things out of the house. His books, and sketchpads, and cups of pencils remained exactly where he left them. Tony was very specific about that with the cleaning woman who came in now. "You can pick them up to clean around them, but everything goes back. You never take it away or move it, okay?" The young woman nodded. She'd grown up in town, had seen Steve and Tony together almost her whole life. Her own parents were divorced, but she knew true love when she saw it. She never moved any of Steve's things. 

Steve's old leather jacket still hung by the front door. His denim one, by the back. His toothbrush and shaving kit stayed in their places on his side of the vanity. His bottle of Skin Bracer was still half-full. Tony opened it to smell it, but he always put it right back. His sweaters and jeans still hung in the closet. 

The only things that really got moved were his flannel shirts. Both Tony and Bucky took to wearing them around the house. Neither one really cared which one, they just picked one up, wore it around for awhile, then took it off and laid it on the nearest surface. It was not uncommon for one to be passed between them four or five times in a single day. They were big and warm, and while they didn't smell like Steve anymore, they still somehow  _ felt  _ like him. Comfortable and comforting. Like home.

They never really became friends, but they got used to each other. Got used to having the other around, like a couple of old tom cats who frequented the same alley. Sometimes Tony would look up from some bit of gadgetry he was toying with, and realize neither of them had spoken a word in days. They'd grunt at each other in the mornings, sometimes both laugh at a stupid joke on a late-night talk show, then grunt again as they went to bed. 

He'd think about how he and Steve used to stay up all night talking. Talking until the sun kissed the dew in the meadow before finally falling asleep entangled together. He'd think about that, and he'd laugh a little. He'd wipe his eyes. He'd miss him--really allow himself to miss him--then he'd wrap the memory carefully up and tuck it away for next time. 

There was always a next time.

One morning, three years after Steve passed away, Tony came into the house and stood, listening as Bucky had a long conversation with FRIDAY. It was about flowers. Their meanings. Sunflowers were adoration and dedication. Daisies meant innocence, purity, and loyal love.

"Captain Rogers was the first one to bring me daisies," she said, and it was wistful.

"I'll bet he did," Bucky answered. "That was him, wasn't it? Innocent, pure, and loyal."

"Mr. Stark is a gladiolus. Remembrance, faithfulness, and sincerity."

"That sounds about right," Bucky mused. "What am I?"

"Edelweiss," she answered immediately. "It means courage and devotion."

Tony changed his will the next day. He left the cabin and everything in it to James Buchanan Barnes.

\---

"Barnes."

"What?"

"How 'bout lunch?"

Bucky looked at him. Frowned. Lunch? They'd never had "lunch" the entire four years they'd lived under the same roof. "What are you talking about?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm talking about lunch, Barnes. Mid-day meal? Comes between breakfast and dinner? Tuna sandwich? Chicken salad? You know... _ lunch." _

Bucky stood up from the chair. It was Tony's old recliner. He'd sort of taken it over. Tony wondered if he'd sit in it as much if he knew how many times Steve had fucked him in it, but he kept his mouth shut. That was nobody's business but his and Steve's. "Alright," Bucky said, shrugging. "Where?"

"I know a place."

Steve always said Paris was his favorite in the fall. When they came in the fall, that was.

When they came in the spring, he said that was his favorite.

They never came in the summer. It was hot, and they both just liked to laze around the house in the summer. Swim in the lake. Take naps together in the shade of the trees. Lie on the deck and watch the stars. That was usually their summers. Just hanging around home, either alone or with the kids. They came up more in the summer, too. Summers were "family time".

They hadn't come much in the winter either, but they'd spent two Christmases there, then stayed the week until New Year's. They didn't go out, they just laid in bed, listening to the revelers in the street, huddled together with a bottle of champagne. They kept the balcony door cracked even then, and when Tony's-- _ Steve's-- _ watch, and the cheers of the people below, said midnight, they'd pop the cork and drink straight from the bottle--"Fuck glasses, baby. We don't need  _ glasses _ ."--then just kiss slowly and thoughtfully, both sinking in a sea of sensuality, both too tired by that point to take it any further, and not needing to because this was just as good. Just as important. Just being together as the wheel of the year started back up again. Just knowing they'd begun on the right foot. Knowing that whatever this year brought, good or ill, it was good  _ now _ . It started out good. 

_ That  _ was the point.

October was Tony's personal favorite. Because of the light. That gold light that made everything seem more rich. More voluptuous. More lovely. As he and Bucky got off the jet, he remembered the way Steve looked in that light. The way his hair shone in it. The way his skin glowed. He'd been so beautiful. Like the god he once was.

They didn't go to the same cafe. That would have been too painful, but they had a late lunch at a bistro, then walked around the city. Tony didn't consciously lead them on a tour of Steve's favorite places, but Bucky could sense that's what they were. He'd known Steve too. Known what he liked. He knew. And when they got to the Louvre, he wasn't totally surprised.

He looked up at the darkened building. "I think they're closed, Stark," he said.

Tony nodded. "Yeah. They are. Come on."

They were met at the door, and ushered inside. The lights were mostly dimmed, but there was enough light to see the beauty that surrounded them at every step.

"What are we doing here?" Bucky asked. His voice was hushed. It seemed a sacrilege to speak above a whisper here in this place.

"Didn't he ever tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Tony smiled. He liked that. That Steve had never told his best friend. That "someday" was something that had stayed between them only.

The young woman leading the way stopped. She pointed. "Cést là, monsieur."

"Merci." Tony nodded in the direction she pointed. "Come on, Barnes. It's there."

Someone had sat out two chairs. Tony was glad. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and they'd walked a lot today. But for a moment, they just stood. Stood in front of it, the most famous, most talked-about painting in the world. The colors were still rich. The smile still enigmatic. Tony was sure Steve would have seen something else in it, something he couldn't see, but Steve wasn't here. It was just them. Just Tony and Bucky. A widower and a grieving brother.

"It's beautiful," Bucky said.

"This is how I wanted him to see it," Tony whispered. "Just like this. In the quiet, with nobody around but us."

"He would have liked that."

Tony snorted soft laughter. "I know. He was just too damn stubborn to let me do it for him."

"Sounds like him."

"Yeah. I should have just tied him up and dragged him over here."

"Never would have happened, Stark. Even you couldn't get him to do something he didn't want to do."

They looked at her, standing side-by-side in the near-silent shadows. She looked back, her hands folded primly in her lap.

"All I ever wanted was to make him happy, Bucky. You know that, right?" Tony asked, his eyes still fixed on hers.

"Yeah. I know."

"He knew it too. Didn't he?"

Bucky turned his head and looked at him. Tony saw it out of the corner of his eye. The sound of derision he made seemed very loud. "That's a stupid question, and you know it."

Tony smiled a little. It was his own version of Steve's half-smile. "I do know." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just miss hearing him say… Well, I just miss hearing him say  _ anything. _ " He let out a shaky breath, but his eyes stayed dry. 

Bucky put his hand on the back of Tony's neck. His flesh and blood hand. It was warm, and calloused, and firm. It eased something in Tony's chest. "Me too," Bucky said.

They stood there for a long time. Looking. When Tony got tired and sat down, Bucky sat beside him. He didn't touch him again, but he didn't need to. Just being there was enough.

For both of them.

\---

April.

Not many people were there. Just family. Rhodey. Pepper. Stephen. Happy. Peter. May. "The kids". The kids he'd shared with Steve, who had been his teammate, his friend, his enemy, his lover, and then his husband. A few people from town came too. Jen, Jasmine, and Bobby. Ray. Patty. Matt, the pizza delivery kid. He brought his wife and daughter. She was ten. She had her choice of any university in the country.

Bruce said a few words. He read a few passages. Natasha held his hand while he did it. Thor and Clint stood with their arms around each other, Wanda between them. Sam stood with Sharon. She was pregnant. Again. Bucky kept his hand on Steve's headstone. Steven Grant Stark-Rogers. Beloved husband, friend, and hero. The birth and death dates were the same: July 4th. The only difference, was the year. A symbol was carved into it. A star surrounded by concentric circles. The shield Howard had made all those years ago.

Tony didn't have a stone yet, but he had told Rhodey what he wanted. He didn't care what else was on it, he just wanted to make sure the name was right. Anthony Edward Stark-Rogers. Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy were still debating the rest. Tony had been so many things to so many people. It was difficult to distill a life so fully-lived down to a few words. In the end, Rhodey thought they would go with something similar to Steve's. It had been the essence of what Tony was.

They all went into the house after the service. It was quiet and subdued, the opposite of what Tony himself had been, but maybe that was alright. Maybe they all realized their lives would be a little more quiet now that he was gone. Maybe it was right for them to mourn the loss of that brilliant energy a little.

After awhile, people started to trickle away. The town people went first, then the family. Sam stayed the longest. He hugged Bucky at the door. "Are you  _ sure  _ you don't want me to stay?" he asked.

" _ I'm  _ not even staying that long," Bucky said. "I'm leaving for Cairo at oh-six hundred."

"So soon?"

"I've got a connection there. Hill wants me to make contact, then report back." He shrugged. "It's a short one. I'll be back in two days."

Sam gave him a distraught look. A motherly look. Bucky smiled a little half-smile. Sam felt a knife twist in his chest. It was so like Steve's. "I'll be fine," Bucky said. "Come down next week. We'll get a burger or something."

"Okay."

Sam hugged him again, and Sharon kissed him good-bye. He watched them get into their car and drive away.

Bucky closed the door and sighed.

"Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Yeah, FRIDAY, I'm okay."

"Are you going to bed now?"

"I should," he said. He knew he should. Six o'clock would come early. "But probably not."

FRIDAY was quiet for a moment. They both were. Then, almost shyly, "Would you like to play a game of chess? Mr. Stark always liked to play chess with me."

Bucky closed his eyes, wiped his tears away, then nodded. Smiled. "Sure," he said. "But I don't really know how."

"I would be happy to teach you."

"That'd be great, FRI. Really great."

\---

He was walking.

_ Now  _ he was walking. 

He thought he'd been driving. He thought he'd been in the 'Cuda, shifting through the gears, pumping the gas pedal, and punching the clutch in a way he'd never really dared do before, but he was walking now. Walking on a path. It seemed familiar. Like maybe he'd been here before. In a dream maybe. Or maybe  _ this  _ was the dream. Maybe he was asleep right now. Maybe he was asleep in the Tower penthouse, some random person beside him, Jarvis trying to wake him, Pepper downstairs--

No.

_ No. _

__ That wasn't his life anymore. It was different now.  _ He  _ was different now. He didn't do casual hook-ups anymore. That was a long time ago. He stopped doing that when he and Pepper became a thing. But he wasn't with Pepper anymore, was he?

He looked down at his feet. He was wearing sneakers. Jeans. Guns n' Roses t-shirt. Hanging around clothes. Saturday clothes. Saturday. Saturday mornings. That seemed important. That seemed  _ vital. _ Why were Saturday mornings so important?

A little breeze sprung up, and to his left, came the sound of leaves fluttering in tall trees. To his right, the sound of water. Not the crash of ocean waves, but gentle lapping on a sandy beach, like the sound of a lake--

_ No. _

__ Not  _ a  _ lake.  _ The  _ lake.  _ His  _ lake.  _ Their  _ lake.

Steve. 

Oh god.

He walked faster. 

He knew where he was now. And now, everything was clear. It was dusk. The lover's hour. Or happy hour. Whichever. It all came down to the same thing anyway, didn't it? He was walking west. The lake on his right. There were houses on the other side, he knew there were, but there were no lights. Didn't matter. He'd walked this stretch of beach a thousand times, holding Steve's hand, leaving footprints behind them. Sometimes he'd hop up onto Steve's back on the way back and let him carry him home that way. Once, he'd convinced Steve to try and climb up onto his back. They'd tipped over in a second, landing in the water, then made out in the sand, laughing and splashing each other.

_ Right here,  _ he thought.  _ That happened right here. _

And it had.

Right here.

He walked faster still.

Anticipation built inside him. Those old, familiar butterflies were in his stomach, beating out their old, familiar rhythm with their wings: SteveSteveSteveSteve.

There was a dip in the path, then a small rise ahead. A little clearing in the trees. There was someone there. Someone sitting on the outcropping above the beach. It was just a silhouette, but he knew who it was. He knew.

He'd know the line of those shoulders anywhere.

Tony closed the distance, and now there was the faintest hint of a scent on the breeze. Tears lodged in his throat. How many times had he cracked open that bottle just to smell it again? Five years. Every day for five years. Doing it right before bed so it would send him into sweet dreams of his lover curled around him, protecting him, cradling him, loving him with every ounce of who he was. 

Good old Skin Bracer. 

He came up the rise, the scent stronger, the sound of breathing, the rustle of clothing against pale Irish skin. Tony put his hand on a tree. Bark bit into his palm. He stepped around the trunk, and there he was.

Their eyes met, held. Cool ocean blue, warm whiskey brown. Polar opposites. But that had been one of the reasons why it worked between them. Why it had always worked.

The butterflies in Tony's stomach beat their wings in a delirious frenzy inside him. STEVESTEVESTEVESTEVESTEVE! One little syllable, a thousand times in his head, threatening to drive him mad.

"Steve?" he said, and it came out on a breath husked with emotion. 

Steve looked up at him, those eyes tipped up to see his face. He looked younger, the way he'd been in his prime. No silver in that hair now, no wrinkles, just a few tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Smile lines. Tony had helped put them there. They'd been his first true mark on Steve's skin.

He smiled at him now. His mouth--oh god, that  _ mouth-- _ ticking up on the side just a little, and Tony's heart felt like it would burst. "Hey, you."

Tony closed his eyes against the tears that threatened, then opened them again. "Isn't that my line?"

"Then say it."

Tony let out a breath. "Are you real?"

Steve looked at him through his lashes, and held out his hand. It was the left one, and the ink on his wrist was clearly visible: TS in scrolled calligraphy.  _ Still mine,  _ Tony thought, even as he touched his hand.  _ Still mine. He's still mine. _

__ Their fingers closed around each other, and the feel of him was so monumentally, simply, perfectly  _ known  _ to him. It was the same. It felt the same.  _ Mine,  _ Tony thought greedily.  _ Mine. _

__ "Hey, you."

Tears darkened those clear blue eyes. "Fuck you," he said, and then Tony was on his knees in front of him, and Steve's arms were around him, and Steve's mouth was on his, and they were kissing. Kissing like they were on fire, kissing like they were drowning, kissing like there was a hurricane blowing around them and they were in the eye of it together, holding on for fear of losing each other again to the wind or the whim of some cruel force. "I waited," Steve whispered harshly, as Tony kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck. "I waited for you."

"I know. I know you did, baby."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"I love you."

"Me too, baby. So much. So, so much."

Steve wrapped his arms around him tight, tight, tight, and buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck. Tony knotted his hair in his fist. Those golden strands between his fingers was heaven. Just heaven.

...

"Baby?"

No answer. Just him breathing. Just him holding on. Tony kissed his temple. Ran his hands through his hair. "Baby, where are we?"

Steve pressed lips solidly onto Tony's shoulder, then wiped his eyes. He shrugged, but he kept his hands on Tony, running them over his arms, his chest, his face. Like he couldn't stop touching him. Like he couldn't bear to not touch him. "Don't know," he said. "A path, I guess."

"Where does it go?"

Steve gestured vaguely. "On?"

"On  _ where?" _

__ Steve shrugged again like it didn't matter, then put his arms around him again, lay his head on his shoulder.

Tony held him, held onto his best guy, and for now, he realized, it  _ didn't  _ matter where they were. It didn't matter where the path went, or if it went anywhere at all. All that mattered was here. Right here. Again. All that mattered was Steve. All that mattered was the warm, sweet, comforting, live weight of him. And maybe they'd have to go on sometime, but he wasn't in any hurry. Not when all he cared about was back in his arms.

_ That  _ was the point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thank you to everyone who read this series. I know it made a lot of you angry at one point or other, and all I can say is...THANK YOU for that! It's more than I could ever ask for this to evoke any emotion whatsoever, so I'll take the anger!  
> A special thanks to those of you who stuck with me from the beginning, those who commented on almost every chapter/story. I kept going for you, almost as much as I kept going for me. This may not have ended how any of us wanted, but I am a little in love with you all for being here with me through it. You're beautiful, wonderful, and lovely, and if I could hug you all, I would!  
> Also, PLEASE stay safe out there! This is a scary, uncertain time. Take care of yourselves and each other. I love you all❤❤❤❤


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